OE  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  AHGELES 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 


"The  girl  who  knelt  upon  the  grass." — Page  29 


By  ELLERY  H.  CLARK 


Author  of"  Loaded  Dice,"  Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
GEORGE  BREHM 


A.  L.  HURT  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS         ::          NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT  1910 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


To  My  Friends 
MR.  AND  MRS.  H.  DENTON  WHITE 


2128612 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

CHAPTER  I 

DOCTOR   HELMAR   VISITS   THE   BIRCHES 

"  Mark  the  perfect  man,  and  behold  the  upright." 

Psalm  xxxvii. 

IN  Doctor  Morrison's  breakfast-room  the  curtains 
were  drawn  back,  and  the  windows  stood  wide 
open,  letting  in  a  flood  of  warm  June  sunshine,  and 
filling  the  whole  room  with  the  fragrance  of  the  soft 
June  air.  Even  into  the  streets  of  the  city,  re- 
stricted and  shut  in,  something  of  the  freshness  and 
beauty  of  the  summer  morning  had  managed  to 
make  their  way,  and  to  Franz  Helmar,  seated  a4one 
at  the  breakfast  table,  listening  to  the  chatter  of  the 
sparrows  and  the  cooing  of  the  pigeons  on  the  roofs 
outside,  there  came  suddenly  a  sense  of  irritation  at 

I 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

the  monotony  of  dingy  sidewalk  and  dusty  street,  of 
house  after  house  of  brick  varied  only  by  house 
after  house  of  stone. 

Irresistibly,  there  crept  over  him  the  whimsical 
fancy  that  he  would  like  to  see  the  whole  vast  city 
at  one  stroke  fade  and  vanish  completely  before  his 
eyes,  and  in  its  place  behold  once  more  hill  and 
valley,  river  and  plain;  all  the  wide  and  boundless 
freedom  of  the  country;  the  splendid,  sunlit  glory 
of  out-of-doors. 

Suddenly,  across  the  current  of  his  musing,  there 
sounded  once  again  the  sharp,  insistent  ringing  of 
the  telephone,  scattering  all  his  day-dreams  into 
flight,  and  for  the  moment  he  paused,  his  coffee-cup 
suspended  in  mid  air,  the  better  to  listen  to  the  doc- 
tor's voice  in  the  hall  outside. 

"  Yes,  this  is  Doctor  Morrison,"  he  heard  in  the 
doctor's  sharp,  alert,  yet  not  unpleasant  tones,  his 
"  professional "  voice,  and  then,  pitched  in  a  lower 
key,  far  more  intimate  and  cordial,  he  heard  at 
broken  intervals,  "  Ah,  yes,  good  morning  —  I'm 
sorry  to  hear  that  —  No,  I'm  afraid  I  can't  myself; 
not  this  morning,  anyway  —  No,  but  I  can  send  my 

2 


DOCTOR  HELMAR  VISITS  THE  BIRCHES 

colleague,  Doctor  Helmar  —  Oh,  perfectly,  no 
doubt  of  that;  this  is  the  day  of  young  men,  you 
know  —  All  right  —  Eight-fifteen,  South  —  All 
right;  good-by,"  and  then  the  click  of  the  receiver, 
and  the  doctor  himself  reentered  the  room. 

Doctor  Morrison  was  a  slender,  wiry,  middle- 
aged  little  man,  with  a  quick,  nervous  manner,  and 
a  face  pleasantly  keen  and  inquisitive,  clean-shaven, 
save  for  a  little  sandy  mustache,  and  with  hair  — 
what  was  left  of  it  —  of  the  same  color.  Profes- 
sionally, he  ranked  among  the  first  half-dozen 
practitioners  in  the  city.  He  was  an  autocrat  in 
demanding  obedience  from  his  patients,  and  a  very 
martinet  in  insisting  that  his  rules  should  be  obeyed, 
while  he  himself,  in  private  life,  with  the  most  de- 
lightful inconsistency,  contrived  successfully  to 
break  them  all.  Cocktails  he  absolutely  forbade  — 
and  drank  them  with  infinite  relish.  Tobacco  he 
denounced  as  one  of  the  curses  of  modern  life  — 
and  peacefully  smoked  cigarettes  innumerable. 
Eight  hours  sleep  he  declared  to  be  a  necessity  — 
and  himself  sat  up  until  all  hours  of  the  night  and 
morning.  In  him  you  met  a  doctor  stern  and  awe- 

3 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

inspiring  —  terrifying,  even  — until  you  came  to 
know  him,  and  then,  shorn  of  his  "  professional  " 
voice  and  manner,  you  came  suddenly  upon  a  man, 
gentle-hearted,  humane  and  kind. 

Seating  himself,  he  glanced  up  at  Helmar,  talking 
jerkily  over  his  eggs  and  toast,  in  his  absence  now 
grown  somewhat  discouraged  looking  and  cold. 

"  A  job  for  you,  Franz,"  he  said,  "  Edward 
Carleton  —  the  man  who  owns  that  big  place  out  at 
Eversley  —  Oaks  ?  Beeches  ?  What  is  the  name  ? 
Some  kind  of  tree.  Birches.  That's  it.  Birches. 
Funny  name  to  give  a  place,  anyway.  Well,  the 
old  man's  laid  up  with  a  cold.  That  was  his  brother 
who  telephoned.  Henry  Carleton,  you  know,  the 
bank  man.  He  wanted  me  to  come  out  at  once,  and 
I  told  him  I  couldn't,  but  that  I'd  send  you  instead. 
—  Train  leaves  South  Station  at  eight-fifteen.  So 
you've  plenty  of  time.  I'll  look  after  Colonel 
Wentworth  myself,  and  drop  in  to  see  Mrs.  Brooks. 
Nothing  else,  is  there?  " 

Helmar  shook  his  head.  "  No,  that's  all,"  he 
answered,  "  and  I'm  mighty  glad  to  trade.  For  one 
thing,  I  was  just  thinking  how  the  country  would 

4 


DOCTOR  HELMAR  VISITS  THE  BIRCHES 

look  to-day,  and  for  another,  I'd  like  to  meet  old 
Mr.  Carleton.  I  knew  Jack  Carleton  very  well 
when  we  were  in  college  —  as  well  as  I  knew  any- 
one, really.  So  I  should  enjoy  meeting  his  father." 

Doctor  Morrison  paused  a  moment.  He  was 
rather  a  well-advised  man  on  social  affairs.  "  Jack 
Carleton,"  he  repeated,  "  some  trouble  there  some- 
where, isn't  there?  Isn't  he  the  one  who  doesn't 
live  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Helmar  assented,  "  he's  the  one.  The 
trouble's  all  between  him  and  Henry,  I  believe. 
Uncle  and  nephew  —  it's  a  queer  combination  for 
a  family  row.  But  I  guess  it's  a  case  where  the 
old  gentleman's  on  the  best  of  terms  with  both  of 
them,  and  hardly  feels  like  taking  sides.  And  so, 
since  Henry  Carleton  and  Jack  can't  get  along  to- 
gether, why,  it's  Henry  that's  rather  got  the  inside 
track.  He  always  did  live  at  The  Birches,  you 
know,  even  before  his  wife  died.  And  then  there's  , 
his  little  girl  —  I  understand  that  Edward  Carleton 
is  most  devoted  to  her,  and  for  the  matter  of  that,, 
that  Jack  is  too.  And  she's  awfully  fond  of  him, 
and  of  the  old  gentleman.  Likes  them  fully  as 

5 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

much  as  she  does  her  father,  from  what  I  hear. 
But  it's  Jack  and  his  uncle  that  can't  agree.  Never 
could,  I  guess.  Maybe  Jack's  a  bit  more  jealous 
than  he  ought  to  be.  Anyway,  it  was  all  right 
while  he  was  in  college  —  he  wasn't  home  a  great 
deal  then  —  but  after  he  graduated,  I  understand 
things  began  to  get  a  little  raw,  so  he  quit  and 
branched  out  for  himself." 

Doctor  Morrison  nodded.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I 
see.  I  thought  I  recalled  something  of  the  sort," 
and  after  a  little  pause,  he  added,  "  I  suppose,  as 
you  intimate,  it  isn't  very  hard  to  guess  where  the 
trouble  lies,  either.  I'm  afraid,  Helmar,  there's 
something  rather  rattle-brained  about  your  friend. 
An  attractive  looking  fellow  enough,  though,  as  I 
remember  him,  but  I'm  afraid  without  much  of  his 
uncle's  ability,  or,  for  that  matter,  of  his  character, 
either." 

Helmar  looked  thoughtful.  "  Well,"  he  began 
doubtfully,  "  I  don't  really  know.  But  somehow 
I  think— " 

Doctor  Morrison  cut  him  short.  After  the  fash- 
6 


DOCTOR  HELMAR  VISITS  THE  BIRCHES 

ion  of  many  clever  men,  he  was  possessed  of  an 
idea,  and  was  going  to  deliver  himself  of  it.  Until 
he  had  done  so,  the  privilege  of  the  floor  was  his, 
and  his  alone.  "  I  look  upon  Henry  Carleton,"  he 
continued,  a  little  sententiously,  "  as  one  of  our 
coming  men.  Some  day  he  is  sure  to  be  regarded 
as  one  of  the  really  solid  men  of  the  city ;  practically, 
I  suppose  he  is  that  now.  They  tell  me  that  he's 
exceedingly  able,  and  that  he's  amassed  a  great 
deal  of  money  of  his  own ;  and  then  they  say  he  has 
all  his  brother's  fortune  behind  him,  too.  The  old 
gentleman  made  his  money  away  back  in  the  days 
of  the  clipper  ships,  and  the  Chinese  trade.  One  of 
the  old  time  merchants,  Edward  Carleton  was, 
shrewd  and  thrifty  and  far-seeing,  and  I  guess 
Henry  is  all  that  his  brother  ever  was,  and  more 
besides.  And  then  Re's  interested  in  so  many 
other  things.  You  know  what  a  thorough  musi- 
cian he  is,  and  what  a  lot  he  does  to  help  the 
younger  singers  along.  And  confound  it  all,  the 
man's  literary,  too.  Writes,  you  know,  and  pre- 
sides at  anniversaries  and  dedications  and  all  that 

7 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

sort  of  thing.  Oh,  he's  one  of  our  leading  men, 
Helmar.  Able,  and  public-spirited,  and  upright.  I 
wish  we  had  a  hundred  more  like  him." 

Helmar  had  listened  patiently,  but  the  thoughtful 
expression  had  not  left  his  face.  "  Yes,"  he  as- 
sented at  last,  though  scarcely  with  enthusiasm. 
"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  Certainly  I  never  knew  any- 
"body  more  generally  looked  up  to  than  Henry  Carle- 
ton  seems  to  be.  And  yet  —  it's  queer  about  him 
and  Jack,  because  Jack's  a  good  fellow,  too.  In 
a  different  way,  perhaps.  I  suppose  he  does  lack 
balance;  but  there's  something  awfully  human  and 
likeable  about  him,  just  the  same.  But  I'm  preju- 
diced in  his  favor,  I'll  admit;  I  used  to  know  him 
so  well." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  started  to  leave  the 
room;  then  paused  a  moment  on  the  threshold, 
throwing  a  backward  glance  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Come  on,  Rex,"  he  called,  and  at  the  sound  of 
his  voice  there  came  slowly  from  beneath  the  break- 
fast table  a  little  brown  and  white  spaniel,  who 
-first  stopped  leisurely  to  stretch  himself,  next  shook 
Jiis  slender  body  mightily  as  if  to  get  himself 

8 


DOCTOR  HELMAR  VISITS  THE  BIRCHES 

thoroughly  awake,  and  finally  trotted  briskly  away 
at  Helmar's  heels.  Then,  outside  in  the  hall,  as 
he  saw  his  master  reach  for  his  hat  and  bag,  he 
became  suddenly  greatly  excited,  springing  to  and 
fro  with  quick,  nervous  bounds,  his  mouth  open, 
his  little  red  tongue  hanging  out,  his  browrn  eyes 
glowing,  finally  standing  straight  up  on  his  hind 
legs,  and  waving  his  fore  paws  frantically,  as 
in  supplication.  Helmar,  observing  him,  held  up 
a  warning  finger,  and  instantly  the  dog  again  sub- 
sided, sitting  quietly  down  on  his  haunches,  his 
head  cocked  inquiringly  to  one  side,  his  brown  eyes, 
now  grown  a  trifle  anxious,  fixed  on  his  master's 
face,  uncertain  of  his  fate.  Helmar  looked  gravely 
down  at  him,  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  but  speaking  with 
assumed  regret.  "  No,"  he  said  slowly,  "  no,  I 
guess  not,  sir.  It's  a  long  ways  for  a  little  dog, 
and  he  might  not  behave  himself,  either.  He  might 
bark  —  he  might  run  away  —  he  might  chase 
squirrels,  even  —  he  might  be  a  bad,  bad  dog." 
Now  the  little  dog's  big,  soft  eyes  looked  very 
sorrowful,  as  if  they  were  not  far  from  tears;  the 
head  and  ears  drooped  pathetically,  the  tail  limp, 

9 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

discouraged  and  lifeless,  every  line  of  his  body  ex- 
pressing the  idea  that  for  little  dogs  it  was  a  very 
hard,  a  very  sad,  a  very  unkind  world.  Then  sud- 
denly he  raised  his  head.  Surely,  even  as  he  had 
despaired,  a  change  had  come ;  surely  the  admonish- 
ing finger  was  being  lowered,  and  his  master's  voice 
was  speaking  to  him  in  the  tones  he  loved  best  to 
hear.  "But"  Helmar  was  slowly  emphasizing, 
"  seeing  that  on  the  whole  you're  a  pretty  good  little 
dog,  perhaps  if  you'll  give  me  your  word  —  your 
solemn  word  —  to  behave,  and  be  a  gentleman, 
why,  I  think — "  his  voice  quickened  perceptibly 
to  a  more  encouraging  tone  — "  I  think,  sir,  I  might 
let  you  go.  Do  you  want  to  go,  sir  ?  Do  you  want 
to  go?" 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  little  dog's  answer. 
With  one  bound  he  hurled  himself  headlong  like  a 
miniature  catapult  against  the  solid  oak  of  the  door, 
then  stood  motionless,  quivering  with  excitement, 
his  tail  waving  jauntily,  like  a  plume,  over  his  back, 
giving  vent  to  short,  sharp  barks  of  joyful  impa- 
tience. It  was  a  great  world  for  little  dogs,  after 
all;  a  world  of  blue  sky  and  long,  waving  grass,  a 

K> 


DOCTOR  HELMAR  VISITS  THE  BIRCHES 

\vorlcl  of  running  brooks  and  sunshine,  a  world  per- 
haps of  squirrels  even.  Helmar,  regarding  him, 
laughed.  "  Come  on,  then,"  he  cried,  and  ia  a  mo- 
ment the  door  had  closed  behind  them. 

The  town  clock  was  striking  nine  as  Helmar  got 
off  the  train  at  Eversley,  walked  up  the  station  lane, 
and  turned  into  the  narrow  footpath  leading  straight 
across  the  half  mile  of  broad  green  meadow  that 
lay  between  the  station  and  The  Birches.  Rap- 
idly and  steadily  his  tall  figure  strode  along,  from 
time  to  time  with  a  half  smile  on  his  dark,  clean- 
shaven face,  as  he  watched  the  little  spaniel  tear- 
ing on  far  ahead  of  him,  in  a  very  frenzy  of 
delighted  freedom,  racing  and  circling  desperately 
here  and  there  in  vain  pursuit  of  butterfly  and  bird. 

To  the  farther  edge  of  the  meadow  they  came. 
There  Helmar,  clearing  the  low  rail  fence  at  a 
bound,  for  a  moment  hesitated  as  he  sought  to  recall 
Doctor  Morrison's  directions,  then  turned  sharp  to 
the  right  along  the  shady  country  road;  proceeding 
at  first  uncertainly,  as  on  a  journey  into  unknown 
country,  then  more  confidently,  as  one  by  one  he 
came  on  the  landmarks  the  doctor  had  foretold: 

it 


first  the  massive  wall  of  stone  and  concrete  that 
marked  the  limits  of  the  Carleton  boundaries,  then 
grove  after  grove  of  the  silver  birches  that  had 
gained  the  place  its  name,  and  finally,  almost  before 
he  expected  it,  a  break  in  the  high  lilac  hedge,  a 
long,  winding  drive,  green  lawns  shaded  by  tower- 
ing elms,  gardens  fragrant  with  flowers,  and  in  the 
background,  just  pleasantly  distant  from  the  road, 
the  huge,  rambling,  many-chimneyed  old  house  itself 
—  Edward  Carleton's  home. 


12 


CHAPTER  II 

INQUIRING   FRIENDS 

"  Distance  sometimes  endears  friendship,  and  absence  sweet- 
eneth  it."  Howell. 

HELMAR  had  covered  perhaps  half  the  distance 
to  the  house,  when  ahead  of  him  he  caught 
sight  of  a  little  girl,  sitting  cross-legged  under  the 
shade  of  one  of  the  big  elms,  her  head  bent  low 
over  the  buttercup  wreath  she  was  weaving,  and  at 
her  side  a  young  woman  —  from  her  dress,  evi- 
dently the  child's  nurse  or  companion  —  sitting 
with  her  back  against  the  tree,  deep  buried  in  her 
book.  At  the  sound  of  Helmar's  footsteps  the 
child  glanced  up  quickly,  and  catching  sight  of  the 
spaniel  advancing  manfully  with  head  in  air,  and 
tail  wagging  in  friendliest  of  greetings,  she  scram- 
bled to  her  feet,  and  tossing  her  half -finished  wreath 
aside,  came  flying  across  the  lawn  to  meet  him. 
Evidently  with  both  it  was  a  case  of  love  at  first 

13 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

sight,  for  the  child  stooped  and  picked  the  dog 
up  bodily  in  her  arms,  pressing  his  face  to  hers,  and 
calling  him  by  the  hundred  pet  names  which  spring 
so  readily  to  the  lips  of  any  true  woman  —  what- 
ever her  age.  "  Oh,  you  dear,"  she  cried  softly, 
"you  darling;  aren't  you  a  pretty  dog!"  while  the 
spaniel  lay  quietly  in  her  arms,  only  striving  to 
lick  her  face  with  his  little  red  tongue.  Then,  as 
Helmar  approached,  she  looked  up.  "  Isn't  he  a 
beauty !  "  she  said.  "  Does  he  belong  to  you  ?  " 

Helmar  stood  smiling  down  at  her,  thinking  that 
unconsciously/  she  made  a  very  pretty  picture  with 
the  spaniel's  head  pressed  against  her  cheek.  She 
was  a  dainty  little  fairy,  slender  and  graceful, 
dressed  in  an  airy  frock  of  white  muslin,  with  a 
broad  sash  of  blue  ribbon,  her  straw  hat  dangling 
neglected  down  her  back,  her  big,  serious  dark  eyes 
gazing  solemnly  up  into  his.  He  nodded  in  answer. 
"  Yes,  he  belongs  to  me,"  he  said,  "  but  do  you  sup- 
pose you  could  look  after  him  while  I  go  in  to  see 
your  uncle?  " 

The  little  girl  nodded  in  eager  assent.  "  Oh,  yes, 
indeed,"  she  cried.  "I'll  take  care  of  him.  I'll 

14 


INQUIRING  FRIENDS 

give  him  my  buttercup  wreath.  Come  now,  you 
darling,  come  with  me,"  and  with  the  spaniel  still 
in  her  arms,  she  walked  back  toward  the  shelter  of 
the  big  elm. 

At  Helmar's  nearer  approach,  the  child's  nurse, 
too,  had  risen,  laying  aside  her  book,  and  as  he 
passed,  naturally  enough  their  glances  met  —  for 
an  instant  only  —  and  then  Helmar  again  strode 
along  upon  his  way,  carrying  with  him  the  im- 
pression of  a  charming  face,  and  a  most  alluring 
smile. 

What  was  there,  he  wondered,  about  the  girl, 
that  was  so  vaguely  disquieting?  She  was  dressed 
quietly  enough  in  simple  black,  with  a  little  snugly- 
fitting  white  apron,  reaching,  by  mere  chance,  just 
to  the  height  of  her  bosom,  and  held  in  place  by 
smart  little  shoulder-straps,  about  it  all  a  daintily 
vague  impression  of  ribbon  and  lace.  Her  figure, 
indeed,  was  perfect;  deliciously  rounded;  and  the 
closely-fitting  dress  seemed  to  bring  out,  with  sig- 
nificant emphasis,  all  the  beauty  of  her  form.  Her 
face,  moreover,  was  more  striking  still;  her  pretty 
blonde  hair  appeared  to  curl  so  naturally  as  utterly 

15 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

to  defy  the  mode  of  convention;  her  big  blue  eyes 
drooped  modestly  as  soon  as  she  had  become  con- 
scious of  his  gaze,  just  long  enough  to  show  the 
heavy  fringed  eyelashes  above,  and  then  almost  as 
quickly  glanced  up  again;  there  had  been  a  flush 
of  rose  in  her  cheeks,  and  a  deeper  scarlet  on  the 
lips  that  had  smiled  at  him.  Perhaps  it  was  in  the 
smile  itself  —  slow,  langourous,  inviting  —  that  the 
whole  woman  had  seemed  suddenly  to  lie  revealed ; 
and  scarcely  able  as  yet  to  define  it,  Helmar  felt  that 
the  girl's  seeming  simplicity  was  the  dangerous 
charm  of  the  highest  art,  and  that  he  had  gazed 
on  the  guile  of  the  serpent,  and  not  on  the  innocence 
of  the  dove. 

Puzzling  a  little  as  he  walked  along,  he  cast  back 
in  his  mind  to  chance  words  that  from  time  to  time 
had  fallen  haphazard  from  Jack  Carleton's  lips, 
and  finally,  in  one  sudden  flash  of  memory,  he  came 
upon  the  clue.  "Jeanne,"  he  said  to  himself,  half 

% 

aloud,  "  of  course ;  that's  who  it  is ;  Jeanne."  Then, 
falling  back  unconsciously  into  the  slang  of  college 
days,  he  added,  "  and  she  is  a  peach,  too ;  Jack  told 
the  truth  for  once;  no  wonder  he  had  his  little 

16 


INQUIRING  FRIENDS 

affair."  And  finally,  as  he  mounted  the  steps  of  the 
broad  piazza,  he  spoke  again.  "  But  pretty  risky 
fun,"  he  muttered,  "  playing  with  fire,  all  right ; 
there  are  some  women  in  the  world  that  a  man 
wants  to  steer  clear  of,  and  I  should  put  that  girl 
down  for  one  of  them." 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  almost  immediately  there 
appeared  in  answer  a  butler,  thin,  pale,  and  of  un- 
certain age,  but  even  to  Helmars  unpractised  eye 
superlatively  autocratic,  hopelessly  correct.  He 
seemed,  indeed,  to  be  not  so  much  a  human  being  as 
the  living  embodiment  of  all  known  rules  of  social 
etiquette,  condensed,  as  it  were,  into  the  final  per- 
fect expression  of  a  type,  before  whom  and  whose 
vast  store  of  knowledge  one  could  only  bow,  humbly 
praying  that  the  mistakes  of  honest  ignorance  might 
graciously  be  forgiven.  Helmar,  following  in  his 
wake,  felt  properly  sensible  of  the  honor  done  him, 
as  he  was  ushered  up  the  broad,  winding  staircase 
to  the  entrance  of  the  big  square  room  at  the  front 
of  the  house,  where  his  guide  stopped,  and  most 
decorously  knocked.  In  answer  a  great  voice 
called  lustily,  "  Come  in !  "  and  the  butler  promptly 

17 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

stepped  to  one  side.  "  Mr.  Carleton,  sir,"  he  ob- 
served, "left  orders  that  you  were  to  be  admitted 
at  once,"  and  thereupon,  opening  the  door,  he  stood 
respectfully  back,  and  as  Helmar  entered,  closed  it 
softly  behind  him. 

Edward  Carleton,  attired  in  an  old-fashioned 
quilted  dressing-gown,  was  sitting  up,  reading,  in 
his  huge,  high,  square  bed,  his  back  propped  with 
pillows  innumerable  Well  upward  of  seventy,  he 
looked  strong  and  active  still;  gaunt,  with  a 
wrinkled,  weather-beaten  face,  a  great  bushy  square- 
cut  gray  beard,  and  fiercely  tufted  eyebrows,  while 
in  the  eyes  beneath  them,  as  he  slowly  took  off  his 
horn-rimmed  spectacles  and  glanced  up  at  his  visi- 
tor, Helmar  caught  an  expression  of  lurking, 
humorous  kindliness  that  put  him  at  once  in  mind  of 
Jack  Carleton  himself. 

As  Helmar  advanced,  the  old  man  reached  out  a 
gnarled  and  sinewy  hand.  "  Good  morning,  sir," 
he  said  pleasantly,  "  I  take  it  that  you're  Doctor 
Morrison's  young  man." 

Helmar,  as  he  took  the  proffered  hand,  smiled  to 
himself  at  the  old-fashioned  quaintness  of  the 

18 


INQUIRING  FRIENDS 

phrase.  "  Yes,  sir,"  he  answered,  "  that's  my  pro- 
fessional title.  In  private  life  I'm  Franz  Helmar, 
and  in  either  capacity  very  much  at  your  service." 

Edward  Carleton  nodded.  "  Thank  you,"  he 
answered  courteously,  and  then,  more  abruptly, 
"  you  think  you've  come  out  here  to  see  a  sick  man, 
Doctor,  but  you  haven't.  Just  a  bit  of  a  chill  —  I 
managed  to  let  myself  get  caught  in  that  shower 
yesterday  afternoon  —  and  maybe  a  little  fever  with 
it.  But  I'm  not  sick.  It's  all  Henry's  nonsense. 
Just  because  he's  twenty  years  younger  than  I  am, 
he  has  to  look  after  me  as  if  I  were  a  baby." 

He  spoke  with  assumed  indignation,  yet  Helmar 
could  detect  in  his  tone  a  note  of  satisfaction  at 
being  so  well  cared  for;  and  when  he  answered 
him,  he  aimed  to  fall  in  with  the  old  man's  mood. 

"  Why,  I  think  myself  that  I'm  out  here  under 
false  pretenses,"  he  said  good-humoredly,  "  you 
don't  look  at  all  like  an  invalid  to  me;  but  still  the 
ounce  of  prevention,  you  know,  it  never  does  any 
harm.  So  many  things  nowadays  start  with  a  cold. 
It's  just  as  well  to  step  right  in  and  stop  them  before 
they  get  a  hold  on  us.  Now,  then,  we'll  see  where 

19 


we  are,  at  any  rate,"  and  as  he  spoke,  he  deftly 
slipped  the  little  temperature  tube  under  Edward 
Carleton's  tongue,  and  closed  his  fingers  lightly  on 
the  lean  brown  wrist.  A  minute  or  two  passed  in 
silence,  the  old  man's  eyes  fixed  on  Helmar's  face 
with  the  scrutinizing  interest  of  the  patient  who 
awaits  the  professional  verdict.  Then  Helmar 
withdrew  the  tube,  studied  it  an  instant,  nodded  as 
if  satisfied,  asked  a  few  questions,  and  then  has- 
tened to  give  his  opinion. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said  reassuringly,  "  this  is  all 
right.  We'll  fix  you  up,  Mr.  Carleton.  Just  a 
little  tonic,  and  a  few  days'  rest,  and  you'll  be  as 
good  as  new;  better  than  new,  really,  because  a 
day  or  two  off  is  a  benefit  to  anybody,  at  any  time. 
You'd  better  stay  in  bed,  though,  to-day,  I  think; 
and  personally  I  rather  envy  you.  I  see  you  have 
good  company." 

He  pointed  as  he  spoke,  to  the  three  stout  little 
volumes  that  lay  by  Mr.  Carleton's  side.  Roderick 
Random  was  the  first;  Tom  Jones,  the  second; 
Tristram  Shandy,  the  third.  Their  owner  nodded 
in  pleased  assent. 

20 


INQUIRING  FRIENDS 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  he  answered,  "  they'll  last  me 
through  the  day,  all  right.  I  never  get  tired  of 
them,  Doctor.  I  was  just  reading,  when  you  came' 
in,  how  Tom  Bowling  came  to  see  the  old  cur- 
mudgeon who  was  about  to  die.  '  So,  old  gentle- 
man,' he  says,  '  you're  bound  for  the  other  shore, 
I  see,  but  in  my  opinion  most  damnably  ill-provided 
for  the  voyage  ';  and  later  on,  after  the  old  fellow's 
dead,  he  tells  some  one,  that  asks  after  him,  that 
they  might  look  for  him  '  somewhere  about  the 
latitude  of  hell.'  There's  good,  sound,  human  na- 
ture for  you.  Smollett  knew  his  sailors,  and  the 
rest  of  his  world,  too,  and  enjoyed  them  both,  I 
imagine.  And  he  wasn't  a  hypocrite;  that's  what 
I  like  most  about  him.  He  saw  things  as  they 
were." 

Helmar  smiled.  "  I  agree  with  you,"  he  an- 
swered, "  but  the  modern  school  of  feaders  doesn't 
care  for  him,  just  the  same.  He's  either  too  simple 
for  them,  or  too  coarse ;  I  don't  know  which." 

Edward  Carleton  looked  his  scorn.  "  Modern 
school !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  I 
have  but  very  little  opinion  of  your  modern  school, 

21 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

writers  or  readers  either.  But  Henry  stands  up 
for  'em,  and  brings  'em  all  to  me  to  read.  Good 
Lord  above,  the  different  kinds !  There's  some  that 
tell  you  whether  John  Smith  had  one  egg  for 
breakfast,  or  two,  and  whether  either  of  'em  was 
bad,  and  if  it  was,  what  John  Smith  said  to  his 
wife,  and  what  she  said  to  him  —  and  Henry  claims 
those  books  are  modern  classics.  Then  he's  got 
another  lot  —  romantic  school,  I  believe  they  are 
—  all  dashing  cavaliers  and  lovely  ladies  and  flash- 
ing swords  and  general  moonshine  —  stuff  about 
fit  for  idiots  and  invalids;  and  last  of  all — " 
he  glared  at  Helmar  as  if  he  were  the  unfortunate 
embodiment  of  all  the  literary  sins  of  the  day  — 
"  he's  got  a  crowd  —  Heaven  knows  what  he  calls 
'em;  the  pig-sty  school's  my  name  —  that  seem  to 
be  having  a  regular  game;  trying  to  see  which  can 
write  the  dirtiest  book,  arid  yet  have  it  stop  just 
enough  short  of  the  line  so  they  can  manage  to  get 
it  published  without  the  danger  of  having  it  sup- 
pressed. And  the  mean,  hypocritical  excuses  they 
make  —  they're  always  teaching  a  moral  lesson,  you 
know,  or  something  like  that.  It  makes  me  sick, 

22 


INQUIRING  FRIENDS 

sir;  it  makes  me  sick;  and  I  don't  hesitate  to  tell 
Henry  so,  either." 

Helmar  nodded  assentingly,  and  yet,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  he  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  reach  forward  and  pick  np  from  the  bed  the 
volume  of  Sterne.  "  I  agree  with  a-  great  deal  of 
what  you  say,  sir,"  he  answered,  "  especially  the 
latter  part,  and  yet  —  it  isn't  wholly  a  modern  vice. 
There  was  old  Rabelais,  for  instance,  and  his 
imitators,  and  even  Tristram  here  I  suppose  you 
could  hardly  recommend  for  a  Sunday-school." 

Edward  Carleton  was  no  casuist.  He  loved  to 
fight,  but  he  always  fought  fair.  "  I  grant  it,"  he 
answered  quickly ;  "  Laurence  Sterne  did  have  a 
little  sneaking  peep-hole  way  with  him  at  times  — 
he  was  modern  there  —  but  you  can  forgive  a  great 
deal  to  the  man  who  gave  us  Uncle  Toby  and  Cor- 
poral Trim.  And  then,  he  isn't  a  fair  example ;  he 
was  a  kind  of  literary  exception  to  all  rules;  but 
take  Smollett  or  Henry  Fielding.  They  struck 
straight  out  from  the  shoulder,  every  time.  What 
they  meant,  they  said.  They  painted  vice,  I  grant 
you,  but  they  painted  her  naked  and  repulsive,  as 

23 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

she  should  be,  and  that's  fair  enough;  you  can  go 
back  to  your  Aristotle  for  that,  Doctor.  But  they 
didn't  disguise  her,  sir;  they  didn't  call  her  some- 
thing that  she  never  was  and  never  could  be;  and 
these  modern  swine,  they  dress  out  vice  in  silks 
and  satins,  and  make  you  believe  she's  the  most 
beautiful  thing  in  the  world  —  so  beautiful  that 
no  man  can  be  happy  unless  he  may  possess  her; 
and  there's  no  Henry  Fielding  to  come  along  with 
his  big,  scornful  laugh,  and  strip  her  of  all  her 
frippery  and  finery,  and  show  you  the  stark,  naked 
sin  that  lies  there  underneath  it  all.  Oh,  I'm  right, 
Doctor,  and  I'm  always  telling  Henry  so,  but  I  can't 
convince  him.  He  says  it's  art,  whatever  that 
means,  and  he's  all  for  the  modern  school." 

Helmar  rose,  smiling.  "  You  are  right,  I  be- 
lieve," he  said  heartily,  "  and  if  we  all  read  more 
of  the  old  worthies,  and  less  of  this  flood  of  modern 
trash,  we'd  do  better,  beyond  a  doubt.  Well,  I 
must  get  my  train,  I  suppose.  I'm  going  to  leave 
the  medicine  with  your  butler ;  I'll  give  him  full  di- 
rections; and  you'll  be  all  right,  without  any  ques- 
tion. If  you  should  want  anything,  telephone  Doc- 

24 


INQUIRING  FRIENDS 

tor  Morrison  or  me  at  once.  I'm  very  glad  to  have 
had  the  chance  of  meeting  you,  sir.  Oh,  and  there 
was  one  other  thing  I  meant  to  tell  you:  I  knew 
your  son  Jack  very  well  in  college.  We  used  to  be 
the  best  of  friends." 

Edward  Carleton  looked  up  quickly,  but  without 
speaking,  and  when  at  last  he  did  so,  there  was  a 
new  note  of  cordiality  in  his  tone.  "  You  knew 
Jack,"  he  repeated,  "  why,  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,  I'm 
sure.  I'm  very  fond  of  my  boy,  Doctor.  Boy? 
He's  a  man  now,  though  I  can  never  seem  to  realize 
k.  He's  only  a  little  boy  to  me  still,  for  all  his 
six  feet  and  his  forty  inches  around  the  chest.  Do 
you  ever  see  him  nowadays,  Doctor  ?  " 

Helmar  nodded.  "  Yes,  indeed,"  he  answered 
readily,  "not  very  often,  of  course.  We're  in  dif- 
ferent lines  of  work,  and  both  busy,  I  guess.  But  I 
run  across  him  every  once  in  a  while.  And  this 
week  we're  going  to  dine  together.  Jack  and  I  and 
another  fellow  who  was  in  our  class  —  a  sort  of 
small  reunion,  to  celebrate  being  five  years  out  of 
college.  He'll  be  interested  to  know  I've  been  out 
here." 

25 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

The  old  man  nodded,  gazing  straight  before  him. 
"  Doctor,"  he  asked  suddenly,  with  apparent  irrele- 
vance, "  you  took  my  pulse  to-day.  What  did  you 
think  of  my  heart?  " 

Helmar,  surprised,  parried  with  the  clumsiness 
of  a  man  not  fond  of  deception.  "  Why,"  he 
evaded,  "  I  wouldn't  worry  about  that.  All  you 
have  is  a  cold.  You've  got  a  pretty  good  heart,  I 
think.  We  none  of  us  grow  any  younger,  though. 
That's  sure." 

Edward  Carleton  smiled  a  little  grimly. 
"  Thanks,"  he  said,  "  sometimes  a  patient  knows 
more  about  himself  than  a  doctor  thinks  he  does. 
And  I  suppose  I  could  guess  pretty  well  what  cer- 
tain things  mean.  Never  mind,  though.  As  you 
say,  we  don't  grow  any  younger,  more's  the  pity." 

Roth  were  silent,  Helmar  pausing  a  moment,  un- 
certainly, with  one  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door. 
Then  the  old  man  glanced  up  at  him,  with  a  smile 
genial  and  friendly,  if  a  trifle  wistful.  "  Good-by, 
Doctor,"  he  said  courteously,  "  thank  you  for  your 
interest.  And  tell  Jack  he's  always  welcome,  when- 
ever he  finds  time  to  run  out.  The  Birches  is 

26 


'  INQUIRING  FRIENDS 

always  his  home,  and  his  room  stands  ready  for 
him  —  always." 

Five  minutes  later  Helmar  again  passed  down  the 
broad  steps  of  the  piazza  into  the  cheerful,  dazzling 
sunlight.  The  little  girl  and  her  nurse  were  still 
seated  under  the  shade  of  the  big  elm,  and  at  once 
the  spaniel,  breaking  away  from  his  new  friends, 
came  tearing  across  the  lawn  to  his  master,  ruth- 
lessly scattering  buttercups  at  every  bound.  With 
a  laugh  Helmar  picked  him  up  in  his  arms,  and  took 
him  back  to  make  his  proper  farewells.  For  the 
little  girl  the  final  moment  of  parting  was  a  hard 
one,  and  she  gazed  longingly  at  her  playmate,  as 
though  unwilling  to  have  him  go.  Her  nurse, 
observing  her,  shook  her  head  in  reproof.  "  Don't 
be  so  foolish,  Miss  Rose,"  she  chided,  "he's 
only  a  little  dog;  you  mustn't  be  silly;"  then,  sud- 
denly, she  looked  squarely  at  Helmar.  "  Will  you 
excuse  me,  please,"  she  said  softly,  "  but  I  know 
that  you're  a  friend  of  Mr.  Jack's.  Would  you  tell 
me  where  a  letter  would  reach  him?  " 

Helmar  eyed  her  keenly,  and  before  his  gaze  the 
blue  eyes  dropped,  and  this  time  were  not  raised 

27 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

again.  A  faint  flush  stole  into  her  cheeks.  Hel- 
mar,  in  his  turn,  looked  away.  "  Yes,"  he  an- 
swered shortly,  "  Mayflower  Club,  City,  is  his 
present  address." 

He  had  his  reward.  At  once  the  girl's  eyes  were 
raised  again,  and  her  look  sought  his  with  the  same 
smile  that  he  had  seen  before.  It  was  not  a  smile 
of  the  lips  alone,  but  of  the  eyes  as  well,  and  a  cer- 
tain nameless  something  that  flashed  from  still 
deeper  within,  a  piquant  frankness,  a  dangerous 
friendliness.  Again  he  started  to  turn  away,  then 
stopped;  his  eyes,  though  half  against  his  will,  still 
seeking  hers. 

On  the  silence  broke  in  the  voice  of  the  little  girl. 
"  Is  it  Cousin  Jack  ?  "  she  demanded,  "  do  you  know 
Cousin  Jack?  "  And  as  Helmar  nodded,  she  cried, 
"  I  wish  you'd  tell  him  to  come  out  and  see  me.  He 
hasn't  been  here  for  an  awfully  long  time.  Will 
you  tell  him,  please?" 

Helmar  promised,  and  with  a  glance  at  his  watch, 
took  a  hasty  leave.  Thoughtfully  enough  he  made 
his  way  back  to  the  station,  and  yet,  before  he 
reached  it,  one  meeting  more  was  destined  to  give 

28 


INQUIRING  FRIENDS 

him  food  for  further  meditation.  Nearing  the 
entrance  to  the  station  lane,  the  vigorous  and 
friendly  bark  of  his  faithful  body-guard  struck  sud- 
denly on  his  ear,  and  turning  the  corner,  he  paused 
in  quick  surprise  at  the  sight  of  the  girl  who  knelt 
upon  the  grass,  parasol,  hat  and  gloves  tossed  care- 
lessly aside,  holding  the  spaniel's  head  imprisoned 
caressingly  between  her  dainty  hands,  and  talking  to 
him  with  mock  severity  the  while.  As  she  glanced 
up,  perceiving  Helmar,  she  somewhat  hastily  arose, 
and  as  he  approached,  smilingly  extended  her  hand 
in  greeting. 

Very  attractive,  indeed,  she  looked.  Fashionably 
dressed,  yet  simply,  as  well;  young  —  she  could 
scarcely  have  been  over  twenty,  at  the  most  —  and 
with  a  face  that  one  could  hardly  choose  but  like  at 
once  —  the  clear-cut,  regular  features,  the  honest, 
straightforward  brown  eyes,  the  pretty  color  in  the 
dimpled  cheeks,  the  firm  little  chin,  the  laughing,  yet 
sensitive  mouth.  One  liked  too  the  erectness  of  her 
slender  figure,  and  the  well-poised  head,  crowned 
with  its  masses  of  soft  brown  hair.  If  one  had 
been  ungracious  enough  to  venture  a  criticism,  the 

29 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

thought  might  have  come  that  she  shared,  perhaps, 
the  fault  of  so  many  American  girls  of  the  well-to- 
do  class,  the  excusable  habit  of  taking  the  good 
things  of  life  too  much  as  a  matter  of  course,  of 
being  too  easily  satisfied  with  the  doings  and  stand- 
ards of  their  own  particular  class  and  "  set,"  of 
having  no  real  knowledge,  and  worse  still,  perhaps, 
of  desiring  none,  of  the  great  world  at  large.  Yet 
even  if  the  criticism  had  been  hazarded,  the  critic 
must  still  have  been  forced  to  admit  that  plenty  of 
character  showed  in  the  girl's  face,  and  while  of  her 
mere  good  looks  alone  there  could  be  no  question, 
in  seeming  paradox,  the  more  one  looked  at  her  the 
more  one  forgot  her  mere  prettiness,  granting  it 
carelessly  enough  as  something  secondary,  so  much 
more  uncommon  and  striking  were  the  other  qual- 
ities written  there  —  strength  and  sympathy  and 
above  all,  that  holy  and  beautiful  thing  before  which 
any  man  may  well  stand  in  reverent  admiration  — • 
the  innate  goodness  of  the  true  woman,  pure  in 
thought  and  deed. 

As  he  took  her  hand,  Helmar's  face  showed  his 
30 


INQUIRING  FRIENDS 

surprise.  "  Well,  Marjory  Graham,"  he  cried, 
"  who'd  have  thought  of  seeing  you?  " 

Laughingly  the  girl  mimicked  him.  "  Why, 
Franz  Helmar,"  she  said  in  turn,  "  you're  not  the 
one  to  be  surprised.  You  knew  I  lived  in  Eversley. 
But  what  are  you  doing  out  here?  " 

"  Old  Mr.  Carleton,"  he  answered,  "  he's  a  little 
under  the  weather.  I  ran  out  to  see  how  he  was 
getting  along." 

The  girl's  face  clouded.  "  Oh,  I'm  sorry,"  she 
said,  "  he's  such  a  dear  old  man.  And  he's  my 
father's  greatest  friend,  you  know.  I  hope  it's 
nothing  serious." 

Helmar  shook  his  head.  "  No,  I  think  not,"  he 
answered,  "  he'll  be  all  right  —  for  this  time.  And 
he  is  a  first-class  old  chap,  too.  Do  you  know,  I 
think  Jack  is  awfully  like  him,  in  many  ways?  " 

At  the  words  a  sudden  change  came  over  the 
girl's  expressive  face.  For  a  moment  she  hesitated, 
then  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  "  Franz,"  she  said, 
"  how  often  do  you  see  Jack  now?  " 

Helmar  glanced  at  her  quizzically.  "  Oh,"  he 
31 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

answered,  "  every  once  in  a  while.  Not  so  often 
as  you  do,  though,  I  guess." 

He  spoke  jestingly,  but  the  girl  gave  him  no  an- 
swering smile,  and  he  hastened  to  add,  "  Why,  I  ex- 
pect to  see  him  Wednesday  night,  Marjory,  to  make 
arrangements  for  a  little  dinner  we're  going  to  have 
Thursday  —  Jack  and  Arthur  Vaughan  and  I. 
Is  there  anything  I  can  do  ?  " 

The  girl  colored  faintly.  "It's  only  this,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  ought  to  write  to  him  and  not  bother 
you.  But  when  you  see  Jack,  would  you  mind  tell- 
ing him  that  I  shall  be  at  home  Friday  evening,  if 
he  cares  to  come  out  ?  " 

Seemingly,  there  was  more  in  the  words  than  ap- 
peared on  the  surface,  but  Helmar,  with  a  certain 
instinctive  chivalry,  chose  to  treat  the  request  with 
apparent  lightness.  "Of  course  I'll  tell  him,"  he 
answered,  "  with  all  the  pleasure  in  life." 

She  looked  her  gratitude.  "  Thank  you  very 
much,  Franz,"  she  said,  "  and  you  will  remember, 
won't  you  ?  " 

He  nodded  reassuringly.  "  I  surely  will,"  he  an- 
swered, and  as  he  spoke,  the  train  burst  shrieking, 

32 


INQUIRING  FRIENDS 

around  the  near-by  curve.  "  Oh,  don't  miss  it ! " 
she  cried.  "  Thank  you,  Franz ;  thank  you  so 
much;  good-by." 

Breaking  into  a  swift  run,  Helmar,  with  the 
spaniel  racing  excitedly  at  his  heels,  reached  the 
station  platform  just  in  time.  Boarding  the  train, 
and  taking  a  seat  far  forward  in  the  almost  deserted 
car,  he  sat  for  some  time  in  thoughtful  silence,  and 
then  at  last  voiced  his  reflections  to  the  one  friend 
who  never  betrayed  his  confidence.  "  Rex,  my 
boy,"  he  said  slowly,  "  our  friend  Jack  seems  to 
have  achieved  the  secret  of  universal  popularity." 

The  spaniel,  listening  with  head  cocked  know- 
ingly to  one  side,  gave  a  sharp,  quick  bark  in  reply, 
and  Helmar  laughed.  "  Does  that  mean  you  think 
so,  or  you  don't  think  so?  "  he  asked,  but  the  little 
dog  refused  further  to  commit  himself,  and  curling 
up  in  his  master's  lap,  went  promptly  and  comfort- 
ably to  sleep. 


33 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   PRODIGAL   SON 
"The  pains  and  penalties  of  idleness." 


Pope. 


IT  was  after  eight  o'clock,  yet  still  faintly  light 
out-of-doors,  as  Jack  Carleton  left  his  rooms  at 
the  Mayflower  Club,  and  came  slowly  down  the 
winding  staircase,  with  one  hand  groping  for  the 
railing,  as  if  uncertain  of  his  way. 

At  first  sight  he  looked  extremely  well,  and  in 
his  fashionably-cut  street  suit  of  light  gray,  his  tall 
and  well-built  figure  showed  to  excellent  advantage, 
though  in  the  five  years  which  had  passed  since  his 
graduation  he  had  seemingly  grown  heavier  and 
stouter,  and  somehow  distinctly  softer  looking,  as 
if  the  active  exercise  of  former  days  had  come  now 
to  be  the  exception,  and  not  the  rule.  And  this 
impression,  as  he  paused  midway  on  the  stairs  to 
light  a  cigarette,  was  still  further  borne  out  by  the 

34 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

appearance  of  his  face.  He  was  handsome  enough 
still,  and  his  complexion,  indeed,  from  a  distance, 
in  contrast  with  his  fair  hair  and  closely-clipped 
mustache,  seemed  the  perfection  of  ruddy  health; 
yet  the  tell-tale  spurt  of  the  match,  as  he  held  it  to 
his  lips,  told  a  far  different  story.  His  color, 
naturally  high,  was  beginning  now  to  be  patched 
with  red  and  white,  giving  his  face  a  significantly 
mottled  look,  and  if  any  further  hint  had  been, 
needed,  it  was  furnished  by  his  eyes,  which  stared 
straight  ahead  of  him  with  a  curiously  glassy  ex- 
pression. Plainly  enough,  Jack  Carleton  was 
drunk. 

Still  holding  fast  to  the  rail,  he  accomplished  the 
remainder  of  his  journey  in  safety;  then  started  a 
little  unsteadily  toward  the  door  of  the  lounging 
room,  stopping  short  at  the  entrance,  and  staring 
vacantly  in  at  the  half  dozen  figures  looming  mistily 
through  the  haze  of  smoke.  Instantly  he  was 
hailed  by  two  or  three  at  once.  "  Hullo,  Jack, 
what'll  you  have  ?  "  "  Come  on  in,  Jack."  "  Make 
a  fourth  at  bridge,  Jack  ? "  Carleton,  standing 
motionless,  with  one  hand  fumbling  in  his  pocket 

35 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

for  a  match  with  which  to  relight  his  cigarette, 
still  gazed  aimlessly  and  apparently  without  recogni- 
tion into  the  room.  "  Make  a  fourth  at  bridge, 
Jack  ?  "  some  one  called  again  sharply,  and  Carle- 
ton,  starting,  jerkily,  but  with  intense  gravity,  shook 
his  head.  "  No,  not  t'night,"  he  said  slowly,  as 
if  settling  some  matter  of  immense  moment  to  all 
concerned,  "  can't  play  t'night ;  very  shorry ;  got 
date."  He  stood  a  moment  longer;  then,  half 
mechanically,  as  it  seemed,  turned  and  slowly 
walked  toward  the  outer  door  that  led  into  the 
.street. 

With  a  little  exclamation,  one  of  the  loungers 
hastily  rose,  and  followed  him  out  into  the  hall. 
Jim  Turner  was  a  stock  broker,  and  a  most  suc- 
cessful one.  He  was  a  man  of  middle  age,  short, 
stout,  and  unattractive  looking.  He  had  a  round, 
fat  face,  pale  reddish  hair  and  mustache,  small, 
nondescript,  expressionless  eyes,  a  pasty  complex- 
ion, and  white,  pudgy  hands,  which  he  took  pains 
to  have  manicured  regularly  three  times  a  week. 
He  was  entirely  unimaginative,  practical,  common- 
place —  and  very  successful.  He  had  one  favorite 

36 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

motto ;  "  Look  at  things  as  they  are,  and  not  as 
you'd  like  'em  to  be." 

He  quickly  overtook  Carleton  —  a  feat,  indeed, 
not  difficult  of  accomplishment  —  and  laid  a  de- 
taining hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  See  here,  Jack/' 
he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  want  you  to  let  me  sell  out 
some  of  your  things.  We  get  advices  that  there's 
trouble  coming  —  and  pretty  quickly,  too.  And  by 
this  time  you're  really  carrying  quite  a  big  line.  So 
I  guess  it  wouldn't  do  any  harm  if  you  began  grad- 
ually to  unload  a  little.  Don't  you  think  so  your- 
self, Jack?" 

Carleton  gazed  at  him  from  eyes  in  which  there 
was  no  understanding.  He  shook  his  head  slightly. 
"  Don'  want  t'sell,"  he  said  at  last,  "  ain't  I  'way 
'head  th'  game  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sure,"  Turner  assented.  "  You're  ahead  of 
the  game,  all  right,  but  I  want  to  have  you  stay 
there.  And  when  things  start  to  go  in  a  top-heavy 
market,  why  —  they  go  almighty  quick.  That's  all. 
There's  your  Suburban  Electric,  now.  That's  had 
a  big  rise.  Let  me  sell  five  hundred  of  that,  any- 
way. You've  got  a  good  profit.  And  you'll  find 

37 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

you  can  get  out  and  in  again,  too.  You  won't  have 
any  trouble  doing  that." 

Again  Carleton  obstinately  shook  his  head. 
"  No,"  he  said,  with  an  almost  childish  delight  in 
contradiction,  "  I  don'  get  'ny  'dvices  like  that.  I 
get  'dvices  S'burban  'Lectric's  going  to  hundred'n 
fifty.  I  don'  want  t'sell  now.  Not  such  fool." 

Turner,  seeing  the  futility  of  further  argument, 
shrugged  his  shoulders  impassively.  "  Well,  drop 
in  at  the  office  and  see  me  to-morrow,  anyway, 
Jack,"  he  said. 

Carleton  nodded.  "  Sure,"  he  answered  cheer- 
fully, "  I'll  be  in.  Got  t'get  'long  now,"  and  he 
made  again  for  the  door. 

Turner  slowly  made  his  way  back  into  the  loung- 
ing room.  One  of  the  smokers  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  laugh.  "  Old  Jack's  pretty  full,  isn't  he  ?  " 
he  said,  "  growing  on  him,  I  should  say." 

A  second  lounger  caught  up  the  remark. 
"Full,"  he  echoed,  "oh,  no,  not  for  him.  He's 
sober  as  a  church  now.  When  he  can  walk,  and 
see  where  he's  going,  he's  all  right.  You  ought  to 

38 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

see  him  around  the  Club  here  some  nights.  Talk 
about  raising  hell !  " 

The  first  man  yawned.  "  Well,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  it's  like  lots  of  other  things.  It's  all  right  and 
good  fun  for  once  in  a  way,  but  for  a  steady  thing 
—  why,  Heaven  help  the  poor  devil  that  gets  going 
it  and  can't  stop.  There  isn't  any  humor  in  it  then. 
Nothing  jovial,  or  convivial,  or  anything  else.  It's 
just  simply  damnable;  that's  what  it  is.  And  Jack 
Carleton's  too  good  a  fellow  to  go  that  way.  It's  a 
shame." 

The  second  man  nodded  in  answer.  "  That's 
right  enough,"  he  assented,  "  and  it's  rough  on  his 
old  man,  too.  He's  an  awfully  good  sort,  the  old 
chap.  And  Jack  could  amount  to  something,  if  he 
wanted  to.  That's  the  bad  part.  He  was  never  cut 
out  for  a  soak." 

"  Doesn't  he  do  anything  at  all  ? "  some  one 
asked. 

The  first  man  shook  his  head.  "  Not  a  thing," 
he  answered.  "  The  old  man  gives  him  an  allow- 
ance, I  understand,  or  else  he  inherited  something 

39 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

from  his  mother;  I  don't  really  know  which.  And 
Jack's 'playing  Alcohol  to  win,  I  guess,  and  Subur- 
ban Electric  for  place."  He  grinned  at  his  own 
joke. 

The  second  man  turned  suddenly  to  Turner. 
"  Say,  Jim,  you  know  everything,"  he  said ;  "  what 
about  this  uncle  of  Jack's  —  this  Henry  Carleton? 
I  seem  to  hear  a  lot  about  him  lately.  He's  the 
whole  shooting-match  down-town.  What  sort  of 
man  is  he,  anyway  ?  " 

Turner  launched  a  little  family  of  smoke  rings 
into  the  air,  and  watched  them  float  upward  before 
he  replied.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered 
indifferently,  "  he's  smart  as  the  devil,  for  one  thing. 
I  know  that  for  a  fact." 

"  Yes,  that's  right,"  the  first  man  chimed  in, 
"  everybody  says  that.  And  yet,  you  know,  it's 
funny,  but  there's  always  something  that  strikes  me 
as  disagreeable  about  that  man's  looks.  He  seems 
so  confoundedly  self-assertive,  and  sure  of  him- 
self, somehow." 

Turner  rose  to  take  his  departure.  "  Oh,  I  don't 
know,"  he  said  again.  "  First  we  sit  here  and 

40 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

damn  a  man  for  being  a  sport,  and  then  we  turn 
around  and  damn  another  man  because  he's  smart, 
and  we  don't  like  his  face.  It's  mighty  easy  to 
criticize."  He  paused  a  moment,  then  added,  with 
what  for  him  was  almost  an  excess  of  feeling,  "  I'm 
really  sorry  about  Jack,  though.  It's  too  bad." 

Meantime,  once  out  in  the  street,  the  air  seemed 
for  the  moment  to  steady  Carleton,  and  he  started 
off  briskly  enough  for  the  South  Station.  As  he 
walked  along,  he  pulled  a  letter  fr.m  his  pocket, 
read  it  through  carefully,  and  then,  as  though  striv- 
ing to  recall  something  that  had  escaped  him,  pro- 
ceeded on  his  way  with  a  puzzled  and  dissatisfied 
expression  on  his  face.  "  Friday,  Friday,"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself,  "  something  else,  but  can't  seem 
to  think  what.  Guess  nothing  important.  Any- 
way, can't  think." 

In  due  time  he  reached  the  station,  and  took  his 
stand  opposite  the  gateway  through  which  the  pas- 
sengers from  the  incoming  Eversley  train  would 
pass.  There  he  stood,  from  time  to  time  absent- 
mindedly  consulting  his  watch,  until  at  length  from 
a  distant  rumble  and  cloud  of  smoke  emerged  the 

41 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

"big  engine,  with  flashing  headlight  and  clanging 
bell,  and  huge  wheels  revolving  more  and  more 
slowly  until  at  length,  with  one  last  jerk,  the  whole 
train  came  suddenly  to  a  stand.  Then  under  the 
arc-light  bustled  forth  the  figures  of  the  incoming 
passengers  —  first  one,  then  another,  then  twos  and 
threes,  lines,  groups  —  all  hurrying,  intent  and 
eager,  bound  for  their  destination,  and  restlessly 
anxious  to  get  there  at  once,  wasting  as  little  time 
as  possible  in  transit.  Scrutinizing  them  with  care, 
it  was  not  until  the  very  end  of  the  procession  was 
reached  that  Carleton  started  suddenly  forward.  At 
the  same  instant  the  girl,  discovered  him,  and  came 
quickly  toward  him. 

Carleton's  masculine  eye  could  hardly  have  ap- 
preciated all  the  details  of  her  dress,  yet  the  general 
effect  was  certainly  not  lost  on  him.  Knowledge 
of  the  name  of  the  dainty  gown  of  blue  and  white 
would  probably  have  conveyed  no  impression  to 
his  mind,  but  the  way  in  which  it  fitted  and  the  sig- 
nificant emphasis  it  lent  to  the  graceful  lines  of  the 
girl's  figure  were  matters  which  he  viewed  with  no 
unappreciative  eye.  Surveying  her  critically  as  she 

42 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

advanced,  from  head  to  foot,  from  the  hat  of  simple 
straw,  with  its  clusters  of  blue  flowers,  to  the  tip  of 
the  dainty  slipper,  with  just  a  glimpse  of  silken 
stocking  above,  he  nodded  in  gracious  approval. 
The  girl  was  certainly  looking  her  best,  her  pretty 
hair  curling  about  her  forehead  in  little  clustering 
rings,  her  face  just  delicately  flushed  with  color,  her 
blue  eyes  very  coquettish  and  very  sparkling. 
Doubtless,  too,  these  same  practised  eyes  lost  noth- 
ing of  Carleton's  condition,  for  it  was  with  a  cer- 
tain easy  assurance  that  she  came  up  to  him  and 
slipped  her  arm  familiarly  through  his  with  a  gentle 
welcoming  pressure,  glancing  up  almost  impudently 
into  his  face.  "  Hullo,  dear,"  she  said,  "  and  how's 
Jack?" 

Carleton  looked  down  at  her,  an  odd  mixture  of 
emotions  showing  in  his  face;  a  certain  satisfaction, 
a  certain  shame,  above  all,  a  certain  recklessness  — 
the  recklessness  of  the  aristocrat  who,  with  a  shrug 
of  his  shoulders,  goes  voluntarily  out  of  his  class, 
fascinated  beyond  his  strength,  half  scornful  of 
himself,  and  wholly  regardless  of  what  the  conse- 
quences may  be. 

43 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

"  Oh,  fine,  thanks,"  he  answered  absently,  and 
then,  as  they  emerged  from  the  station  into  the 
street,  he  returned  the  pressure  of  her  arm. 
"  You're  looking  very  pretty,  Jeanne,"  he  said, 
"  I'm  glad  I  got  your  note." 

They  sauntered  slowly  up  Union  Street,  the  girl 
chattering  vivaciously,  and  glancing  up  at  Carle- 
ton  as  she  talked,  with  a  subtle  and  flatter- 
ing attention;  Carleton  for  the  most  part  listening, 
from  time  to  time  nodding  or  answering  in  mono- 
syllables. At  the  up-town  crossing  they  came  to  a 
brief  irresolute  halt.  "  Well,"  said  Carleton,  "  and 
whash  going  to  be  to-night  ?  The  river  ?  " 

The  girl,  with  a  little  smile,  shook  her  head. 
"  No,"  she  answered  capriciously,  "  I'm  tired  of 
the  river.  We've  done  that  so  often.  I  want  a 
motor  to-night.  A  nice  long  ride.  We'll  have  a 
beautiful  time." 

Carleton  doubtfully  shook  his  head.  He  was  in 
a  distinctly  contradictory  mood.  "  Nice  long 
ridsh,"  he  observed,  "  in  nice  big  motors,  damn 
'xpensive  things  for  man  that's  short  money. 
Motors  'xpensive  things;  so's  girls." 

44 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

The  girl  laughed,  but  did  not  lack  the  cleverness 
to  see  how  her  point  might  best  be  gained.  "  Are 
you  short  of  money,  really  ?  "  she  said,  with  quick 
sympathy.  "  Why,  you  poor  old  Jack,  it's  a  shame. 
We'll  go  on  the  river,  then,  in  a  little  boat,  all  snug 
and  nice.  You  dear  boy;  you  need  some  one  to 
comfort  you,"  and  the  big  blue  eyes  gazed  up  into 
his,  bold  and  unashamed. 

She  had  comprehended  his  mood  perfectly.  In- 
stantly his  tone  changed.  "  No,  no,"  he  answered 
quickly,  "  won't  do  an'thing  of  the  kind.  Got  little 
money  left  for  frens."  He  laughed  uncertainly. 
"  'F  you  want  motor,  you're  going  t'  have  motor. 
That's  all  there  'sh  to  it.  Do  an'thing  for  you,. 
Jeanne." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  with  dangerous  sweetness. 
"  You're  so  good  to  me,  Jack,"  she  murmured,  and 
the  gentle  pressure  on  his  arm  was  in  nowise 
diminished.  "  You  do  everything  for  me.  I 
only  wish  sometimes  I  could  do  something  for 
you." 

He  gazed  down  at  her,  all  that  was  weakest  and 
worst  in  his  nature  uppermost  in  his  face.  "  Maybe 

45 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

•can,"  he  said  thickly,  "maybe  can;  come  on;  we're 
goin'  get  motor  now." 

At  about  the  same  hour  that  Carleton  had  left  the 
Mayflower,  farther  up  town,  in  the  reception-room 
at  the  Press  Club,  Arthur  Vaughan  sat  waiting  for 
his  friend  Helmar  to  return.  He  was  a  young  man 
of  medium  height  and  build,  inclined  to  be  a  trifle 
careless  about  his  dress;  his  clothes  a  little  thread- 
tare  ;  his  brown  hair  and  mustache  allowed  to  grow 
a  little  too  long;  his  carelessly  knotted  tie  a  good 
year  out  of  style.  Yet  his  face,  looked  at  more 
closely,  was  distinctly  good;  a  face  somewhat  thin 
and  worn;  the  mouth  and  chin  nervous,  sensitive; 
the  forehead  high;  the  brown  eyes  straightforward 
and  kindly, —  the  eyes  of  a  man  a  little  detached 
from  the  world  about  him,  a  little  inclined,  on  his 
way  through  life,  unconsciously  to  pause  and  dream. 

Presently  the  door  opened,  and  Helmar  entered, 
the  expression  on  his  face  one  of  half -humorous 
disgust.  "  Same  old  Jack  Carleton,"  he  said. 
"  He's  not  down-stairs,  and  it's  five  minutes  of 
eight.  You're  sure  he  understood  ?  " 

46 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

i 

Vaughan  nodded.  "  Oh,  perfectly,"  he  answered,. 
"  I  saw  him  Wednesday  night,  and  told  him  that 
your  meeting  had  been  changed  to  Thursday,  so 
that  we'd  have  to  put  this  thing  over  until  to-night ; 
and  then  I  gave  him  Miss  Graham's  message,  and 
told  him  he'd  have  to  square  himself  with  her,  be- 
cause we  couldn't  put  things  off  again.  And  I 
remember  his  saying  that  it  was  all  right  for  him; 
I  even  recall  his  repeating  it  after  me,  as  if  he 
wanted  to  make  sure  of  it,  '  seven-thirty,  Press 
Club;  eight  o'clock,  theater;  eleven  o'clock,  Press 
Club,  supper  and  talk ' ;  oh,  no,  he  understood  all 
right.  I'm  sure  of  it." 

Helmar  considered.  "  Well,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  just  because  Jack's  got  a  poor  memory,  I  can't  see 
why  we  should  miss  a  good  show.  Let's  leave  his- 
ticket  at  the  desk,  and  if  he  happens  to  drift  in,  all 
right.  Then  he  can  come  on  after  us.  Isn't  that 
O.  K.  ?  "  and  on  Vaughan's  assent,  they  left  the 
club  for  the  theater,  where  in  due  course  the  cur- 
tain rose,  and  later  fell  again  upon  an  excellent  per- 
formance, indeed,  but  without  revealing  any  sign  of 
the  absent  Carleton.  Once  outside  in  the  street,, 

47 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Helmar  turned  to  Vaughan.  "  Well,  what  next  ?  " 
he  queried. 

Vaughan  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Why,  the 
supper's  ordered,"  he  answered,  "  so  I  suppose  we 
might  as  well  go  ahead  in  solitary  state.  But  it 
rather  takes  the  edge  off  the  thing.  It's  too  bad," 
and  a  moment  or  two  later  he  added,  half  to  him- 
self, and  half  to  his  companion,  "  I  don't  know  what 
to  think  of  Jack,  really." 

Helmar  made  no  answer,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
supper  was  served  in  the  little  private  room,  and 
the  waiter  had  withdrawn,  that  they  again  returned 
to  the  subject.  "  What  is  it  about  Jack,  anyway?  " 
Helmar  asked.  "  I  was  out  at  his  place  the  other 
day,  and  he  seemed  to  be  making  no  end  of  trouble ; 
everybody  stirred  up  about  him.  What's  he  been 
doing?" 

Vaughan  helplessly  shook  his  head.  "  Search 
me,"  he  answered,  "  you  know  I  scarcely  see  him 
now.  He  travels  with  a  different  crowd  these  days. 
But  I  guess  since  he  joined  the  Mayflower  he's 
changed  quite  a  lot ;  playing  the  market,  I  hear,  and 

48 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

drinking  pretty  hard,  and  sort  of  gone  to  pieces 
generally." 

Helmar  looked  thoughtful.  "That's  bad,"  he 
said  shortly,  and  after  a  pause,  "  Never  happen  to 
hear  any  gossip  about  him  and  a  girl,  do  you  ?  " 

Again  Vaughan  shook  his  head.  "  No,  I  don't," 
he  answered,  "  if  he's  doing  anything  of  that  sort, 
it's  news  to  me.  That  is,  I  mean,  anything  really 
out  of  the  way.  Jack  likes  a  good  time,  of  course ; 
we've  always  known  that;  but  I  don't  believe  he's 
that  kind.  I  guess  he's  all  right  enough  that  way. 
At  any  rate,  I've  always  understood  that  he  was 
about  as  good  as  engaged  to  Marjory  Graham,  and 
that  ought  to  keep  a  fellow  straight,  if  anything 
could." 

Helmar  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  answered  abruptly, 
"  I  should  say  it  ought.  Well,  never  mind.  Now 
I  want  to  hear  how  things  are  going  with  you, 
Arthur.  We'll  talk  about  Jack  later  on." 

And  then,  with  the  progress  of  the  supper,  the 
talk  ran  along  as  such  talks  will;  each  telling  of 
past  experiences,  losses,  gains;  of  future  plans, 

49 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

hopes,  fears;  speaking  of  classmates  and  friends; 
skimming  the  passing  events  of  the  day;  comparing 
notes  on  the  thousand  and  one  subjects  that  crowd 
the  lips  so  readily  when  friends  of  long  standing, 
who  meet  but  seldom,  settle  down  to  the  luxury  of 
a  leisurely,  comfortable  talk. 

Meanwhile,  far  out  on  the  Escomb  Road,  the  big 
motor  bowled  swiftly  along.  Carleton's  arm  was 
around  the  girl's  waist,  her  head  was  on  his 
shoulder,  and  she  was  smiling  up  into  his  face. 
Very  charming,  very  young  and  innocent  she  looked, 
unless,  in  some  occasional  passing  flash  of  light,  one 
could  have  seen  the  look  in  her  eyes  which  lay  be- 
hind the  smile.  "  Oh,  this  is  so  nice,  Jack,"  she 
murmured;  even  the  tone  of  her  voice  was  a  subtle 
caress,  and  she  nestled  a  little  closer  to  his  side; 
"  I  could  keep  on  like  this  for  ever ;  you  were  so 
good  to  take  me,  dear." 

Carleton  did  not  at  once  answer,  and  when  he 
did,  his  tone  seemed  scarcely  sentimental.  Drowsi- 
ness, indeed,  brought  on  by  his  many  potations, 
rather  than  sentiment,  appeared  to  be  the  spell  which 

50 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

bound  him,  and  his  mind  wandered  irresponsibly  in 
a  dozen  different  directions  at  one  and  the  same 
time.  "  Say,"  he  asked  suddenly,  "  how'd  you 
know  where  a  letter'd  get  me,  anyway  ?  " 

Had  the  girl's  mood  been  real,  the  matter-of- 
fact,  commonplace  tone  must  have  driven  her  to 
sudden  anger;  as  it  was,  her  sense  of  humor  saved 
her,  and  after  a  moment  or  two,  half  in  spite  of 
herself,  she  gave  a  little  laugh.  "  Why,"  she  an- 
swered lightly,  "  from  your  good-looking  friend,. 
Doctor  Helmar,  of  course,"  and  the  next  instant  she 
could  have  bitten  her  tongue  out  for  the  chance 
words,  as  Carleton,  for  the  moment  startled  into 
his  senses,  with  a  sudden  exclamation  sat  bolt  up- 
right in  his  seat.  "  Helmar,"  he  cried,  as  every- 
thing in  one  instant's  flash  came  back  to  him,  "  to- 
night was  the  night.  Oh,  Lord,  I  wouldn't  have 
done  this  for  a  thousand  dollars."  Then  leaning 
forward,  to  the  chauffeur,  "  Here  there,  you,  stop  a 
minute !  "  he  cried ;  and  fumbling  in  his  pocket  for  , 
his  watch,  he  glanced  at  it,  and  then  looked  quickly 
around  him.  "  Ten  o'clock,"  he  muttered,  "  we  can 
make  it ;  "  then,  aloud,  "  Put  her  round  now,  driver,, 

51 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

and  head  her  straight  for  town;  let  her  out,  and  let 
her  go!" 

With  a  surprised  grin,  the  chauffeur  slowly 
slackened  speed,  reversed  his  power,  and  ponder- 
ously turned  the  big  car  about.  The  girl  mean- 
time protested  vigorously.  "  No,  no/'  she  cried, 
"  why,  Jack,  we're  almost  out  there  now ;  what  do 
you  care  for  him,  anyway?  You  wouldn't  do  a 
thing  like  that,  Jack.  You've  got  better  manners 
than  to  leave  me  now.  How  shall  I  get  home? 
Now,  Jack  — " 

Carleton,  with  a  most  disconcerting  lack  of  gal- 
lantry, obstinately  shook  his  head.  "  This  very 
important,"  he  said,  "  we'll  go  back  way  of 
Birches;  leave  ,you  there;  this  'xceedingly  im- 
portant. You  don't  understand.  You  never  went 
college.  Quincentennial  —  no,  quinquecentennial, 
no,  quinquen  —  oh,  damn,  five  years  out  of  college, 
that's  what  it  is.  Special  dinner.  Oh,  what  a  fool 
I  was  to  forget.  How  could  I  ?  " 

The  girl  sat  with  frowning  brows.  "  Oh,  very 
well,"  she  said,  offended,  "  you  needn't  ask  me  to 
go  anywhere  with  you  again ;  that's  all ;  "  and  then, 

52 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

this  remark  having  no  noticeable  effect,  she  began 
softly  to  cry. 

Instantly  Carleton's  shifting  mood  had  veered 
again,  and  in  a  moment  his  arm  was  once  more 
around  her  waist,  and  he  leaned  protectingly  over 
her. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  cried,  "  don'  do  that.  Can't 
stan'  that.  We'll  go  out  there  s'mother  time,  my 
dear.  But  not  t'night,  not  t'night;  special  t'night; 
special;  awful  good  fellows,  both  of  'em;  better'n 
I  am,  damn  sight.  Both  good  fellows.  Don't 
cry." 

With  a  quick,  sinuous  movement  she  wrenched 
herself  free,  putting  half  the  distance  of  the  broad 
cushioned  seat  between  them.  "  Don't,"  she  cried, 
"  I  hate  you !  "  and  in  constrained  and  moody  silence 
the  big  motor  whirred  along  upon  its  homeward 
way. 

Nor  was  home  to  be  gained  without  further  mis- 
adventure. Presently,  even  before  they  had  cov- 
ered half  the  distance  to  The  Birches,  something 
went  wrong  with  the  machine,  and  the  chauffeur, 
steering  in  close  to  the  side  of  the  road,  dismounted 

53 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

and  began  to  search  for  the  trouble,  spurred  on  by 
the  accompaniment  of  Carleton's  speech,  which 
seemed  every  moment  to  gain  in  picturesqueness 
and  force.  Suddenly  out  of  the  darkness  appeared 
two  broad  white  streaks  of  dazzling  light,  the  wail 
of  a  horn  sounded  in  their  ears,  and  another  auto- 
mobile passed  them,  to  draw  up,  just  beyond,  with 
a  quick  grinding  and  jarring  of  brakes.  A  friendly 
voice  hailed  them.  "Anything  wrong?  Help  you 
out  ?  "  Carleton  started  at  the  words.  He  leaned 
forward  in  the  seat,  and  whispered  hastily  to  the 
chauffeur.  Instantly  the  latter  answered,  "  No 
thank  you,  sir,  nothing  wrong,"  and  the  second 
motor  sped  along  upon  its  way.  Carleton's  brow 
contracted.  "  Wonder  if  he  saw,"  he  muttered, 
"  light's  pretty  bright ;  looked  like  Marjory,  too ; 
didn't  know  the  colonel  drove  much  at  night,  any- 
way/' There  was  a  moment's  pause;  then  all  at 
once,  he  added,  "  Friday !  Friday !  Good  God ! 
that  was  the  other  thing.  Damn  the  luck! 
Damn  everything ! "  and  mingling  threats  and  en- 
treaties, he  renewed  his  urging  to  the  worried 
chauffeur. 

54 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

An  hour  later,  at  the  Press  Club,  Vaughan's 
cigar  was  well  under  way,  and  Helmar  was  helping 
himself  to  a  second  cup  of  coffee,  when  suddenly 
the  door  burst  open,  and  there  appeared  before 
them  the  somewhat  unsteady  figure  of  their  absent 
friend.  Before  either  of  them  could  speak,  he  had 
begun  a  rambling  and  incoherent  apology,  continu- 
ing it  as  he  sank  limply  into  the  chair  reserved  for 
him. 

"  Must  'scuse  me,"  was  the  burden  of  his  speech, 
"  mem'ry  comple'ly  wen'  back  on  me ;  thoroughly 
'shame  myself — "  and  there  was  much  more  in 
the  same  vein;  then,  all  at  once  reaching  the  senti- 
mental stage  of  his  orgy,  he  began  to  develop  a 
vein  of  maudlin  self-pity;  "  Helmar,"  he  cried 
despairingly,  "  you  been  good  fren'  me  always.  I 
tell  you,  's  no  good.  I  try  —  I  try  's  hard's  anyone 
—  and  oh,  Helmar — "  his  voice  broke,  and  with 
a  mixture  of  the  ridiculous  and  the  pathetic  that 
made  both  his  hearers  choke  a  little  hysterically, 
even  while  their  eyes  were  moist,  he  culminated 
despairingly,  "  'S  no  use,  fellers;  's  no  use;  I'll  tell 
you  where'm  going;  I'm  going  to  hell  in  a  hack; 

55 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

thash  what  I  am,"  and  forthwith  he  laid  his  head 
upon  the  table,  and  began  to  weep. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  Helmar  and 
Vaughan  finally  deposited  him,  remonstrating  and 
unwilling,  in  safety  at  the  Mayflower,  leaving  him 
in  skilful  hands  well  versed  in  the  treatment  of  his 
malady,  and  found  themselves,  flushed,  weary,  and 
not  in  the  best  of  humors,  again  in  the  street. 

"  And  so  ends  our  great  reunion,"  said  Vaughan, 
mopping  his  heated  forehead.  "  Jack  ought  to 
feel  pleased  with  himself;  he's  certainly  succeeded 
in  knocking  all  the  pleasure  out  of  it  for  everybody, 
about  as  well  as  any  one  could.  And  I  think,  on 
the  whole,  that  I'm  inclined  to  agree  with  him  about 
where  he's  bound." 

Helmar  sighed,  a  sigh  of  honest  disappointment 
and  anxiety.  "  Jack's  a  mighty  good  fellow,"  he 
answered,  "  but  he's  certainly  in  a  bad  way  now. 
If  he  ever  means  to  amount  to  anything,  he's  got 
to  fight,  and  fight  hard,  too.  Well,  come  on, 
Arthur,  I  suppose  we'd  better  get  to  bed,"  and  thus 
the  long-planned  quinquennial  reunion  came  sadly 
and  dismally  to  an  end. 

56 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   FOOL   AND   HIS    MONEY 

"  Wherein  I  spake  of  most  disastrous  chances." 

Shakespeare. 

JACK  CARLETON  stood  in  front  of  the  ticker 
in  Turner  and  Driver's  office,  letting  the  nar- 
row white  ribbon  run  lightly  through  his  fingers. 
For  the  moment  he  was  alone.  The  big  clock  over 
on  the  post-office  building  had  just  boomed  slowly 
the  hour  of  twelve,  and  the  little  knot  of  cus- 
tomers, calmly  or  hurriedly,  according  to  their 
several  temperaments,  had  one  by  one  gone  out  to 
lunch,  for  man  must  eat,  though  black  care  sit  at 
his  elbow.  And  indeed,  though  the  little  ticker 
still  buzzed  and  whirred  unceasingly,  and  the  tape, 
with  scarcely  a  halt  or  pause  in  its  onward  course, 
still  ran  as  smoothly  and  persistently  as  ever,  for 
the  moment  the  worst  of  the  drive  seemed  really 
to  be  over.  So  that  presently  Carleton  lifted  his 

57 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

eyes,  red-rimmed  and  tired  from  the  blur  of  black 
and  white  beneath  them,  letting  the  quotations  run 
on  unheeded,  and  stood  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  spot 
where,  just  visible  through  the  very  top  of  the  tall 
window,  framed  in  with  line  and  bar  of  blackened 
roof  and  dingy  chimney  top,  there  smiled  cheerfully 
down  into  the  gloom  of  the  darkened  office  a 
cloudless  patch  of  bright  blue  sky. 

Imperceptibly  the  sound  of  the  ticker  ceased,  and 
the  white  ribbon  began  fantastically  to  curl  and 
twist  in  his  hand,  for  all  unconsciously  his  fingers 
had  closed  upon  it,  checking  the  smoothness  of  its 
onward  flow.  The  little  patch  of  blue  sky  had  sent 
his  thoughts  wandering  far  afield.  A  moment  be- 
fore he  had  been  standing  there  in  the  office,  won- 
dering miserably  whether  to  try  to  pull  out,  while 
there  was  yet  time,  with  a  good  part  of  his  little 
fortune  gone,  or  whether,  with  anchors  grappling 
desperately  for  holding  ground,  to  strive  some- 
how to  ride  out  the  storm.  And  now,  so  long 
had  his  mind  run  upon  things  trivial  and  unim- 
portant, that  despite  the  panic,  despite  the  danger 
he  was  in,  thanks  to  that  casual  upward  glance, 

58 


A  FOOL  AND  HIS  MONEY 

he  stood  already  in  imagination  at  the  first  tee  at 
the  Country  Ckib,  the  green  of  the  valley  lying 
smooth  and  fair  beneath  him,  the  couple  ahead 
just  disappearing  over  the  farther  dip  of  the  hill, 
and  he  himself,  well-limbered  up,  driver  in  hand, 
in  the  act  of  placing  the  new  white  ball  on  the 
well-made  tee,  properly  confident  of  smashing  it 
out  a  hundred  and  eighty  yards  away,  amid  the 
close-cropped  velvet  of  the  rolling  turf.  Abso- 
lutely a  perfect  day,  he  reflected,  for  the  medal 
round;  no  wind,  a  bright  sun,  greens  quick,  yet 
true  —  and  above  all,  he  felt  that  he  could  win. 
Barnes  was  entered,  of  course,  and  Henderson 
himself  —  he  was  paired  with  him  —  and  Hender- 
son had  told  Jake  Rogers  that  since  he  had  changed 
his  grip  he  could  "  put  it  all  over  "  Carleton,  match 
or  medal,  any  time  they  met.  Rogers,  with  his 
little  crooked  smile,  had  taken  pains,  of  course, 
to  repeat  the  remark,  and  while  Jack  had  laughed 
and  said,  "  Oh,  sure,  he  can  lick  me  all  right,"  in 
his  own  heart  of  hearts,  nevertheless,  he  knew  that 
he  could  trim  Henderson,  and  somewhat  grimly 
had  awaited  his  chance.  About  a  hundred  and 

59 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

sixty  would  do  it,  he  figured;  say  a  seventy-nine 
to-day  and  an  eighty-one  to-morrow  —  two  such 
perfect  days  in  succession  could  hardly  be  —  yes, 
about  a  couple  of  eighties  would  do  the  trick. 

His  vision  faded  as  swiftly  as  it  had  come. 
The  green  of  the  links  had  vanished,  and  in  its  stead 
the  four  square  walls  of  the  office,  swinging 
smoothly  into  place,  had  closed  tightly  in  again  upon 
him  and  his  troubled  fortunes.  With  a  start,  and  a 
half-guilty  flush,  he  glanced  hastily  over  the  yard  or 
two  of  tape  which  he  still  held,  looped  and  bent,  in 
his  tense  fingers.  But  to  his  relief,  as  he  quickly 
scanned  the  quotations,  there  seemed  to  be  no 
cause  for  further  immediate  alarm.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  general  tone  of  things  was  still  improving. 
Akme  Mining  was  seventeen  now,  up  two  and  a 
quarter;  Suburban  Electric  had  rallied  to  sixty- 
three;  Fuel  was  up  four,  at  eighty.  With  a  sigh, 
Carleton's  feyes  we're  raised  again  to  the  patch  of 
blue  sky. 

And  now  into  the  office  bustled  Jim  Turner, 
hurried  and  preoccupied,  showing  plainly  the  nerv- 
ous strain  of  the  last  three  days,  and  especially  of 

60 


A  FOOL  AND  HIS  MONEY 

that  grim  and  ghastly  yesterday,  when  for  five  end- 
less hours  it  had  seemed  that  the  bottom  of  the 
market,  if  not,  indeed,  of  the  earth  itself,  might 
be  going  to  fall  out  for  ever  and  a  day ;  a  troubled, 
anxious  time  alike  for  broker  and  customer,  banker 
and  depositor,  a  time  when  the  emergency  brakes 
had  been  put  on  so  suddenly  and  so  hard  that  the 
whole  great  financial  stage-coach  had  come  momen- 
tarily to  a  standstill,  with  a  jar  so  tremendous  that 
scores  of  passengers,  especially  those  who  occupied 
only  precarious  standing-room,  had  been  hurled 
bodily  to  the  ground,  and  some  indeed,  according  to 
the  stern  panic-law  of  self-preservation,  had  even 
been  quietly  and  with  despatch  pushed  over  the  side, 
in  order  to  make  better  the  chances  of  those  remain- 
ing for  keeping  in  safety  the  threatened  security  of 
their  seats. 

Turner  headed  straight  for  the  ticker,  as  he 
neared  it  striving,  with  an  obviousness  scarcely 
reassuring,  to  appear  cheerful  and  unconcerned. 
"  Hullo,  Jack,"  he  said,  "  how  they  coming  now?  " 
and  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  gathered  up  a 
dozen  yards  of  the  tape  and  let  it  pass  quickly 

61 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

under  his  practised  eye.  "  H'm,"  he  said,  almost 
immediately,  in  a  tone  that  plainly  enough  showed 
his  relief,  "  not  so  bad,  are  they?  Quite  a  lot  bet- 
ter than  they  were  an  hour  ago.  Oh,  I  guess  we'll 
come  through  it  somehow,  after  all." 

His  tone  gave  Carleton  measureless  comfort. 
He  found  himself  nodding  with  assurance.  "  Oh, 
yes,"  he  answered,  "  they're  really  a  lot  better.  I 
guess  things  are  all  right  now.  Do  you  suppose, 
Jim  — "  he  hesitated,  stopped,  and  then,  with  a  flush 
of  color,  and  his  eyes  averted  from  Turner's  face, 
"  do  you  suppose,  Jim,  you'll  be  able  to  see  me 
through?" 

Turner  non-committally  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  Why,"  he  answered,  not  unkindly,  "  I  guess  so. 
Yes,  if  things  don't  go  all  to  the  devil  again,  I 
guess  we  can.  But  you're  in  too  deep,  Jack,  for  a 
man  that  hasn't  unlimited  resources.  It  isn't  right, 
really.  I'll  stand  by  you  as  long  as  I  can  —  and 
when  I  can't,  I'll  let  you  know —  and  then,  if  you 
can't  do  anything,  and  it  gets  too  bad,  why,  busi- 
ness is  business,  Jack,  and  we'll  have  to  chuck  you. 
That's  all  we  can  do." 

62 


A  FOOL  AND  HIS  MONEY 

Carleton  gazed  at  him  a  little  helplessly;  then 
asked,  "  But  you  think  the  worst's  over,  don't  you  ?  " 
He  spoke  so  trustfully,  and  with  such  confidence 
in  the  other's  judgment,  that  Turner  gave  a  half- 
contemptuous,  half -embarrassed  laugh.  "  Why, 
yes,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  I  think  it  is,  but  good 
Lord,  Jack,  at  a  time  like  this  I'm  not  on  the  inside. 
I'm  only  one  of  the  small  fry.  If  I  could  tell  you 
what  you  wanted  to  know,  instead  of  just  guessing 
at  it,  I  wouldn't  be  here,  working  for  a  living;  I 
can  tell  you  that;  I'd  be  over  touring  the  continent 
in  a  big  French  six-cylinder.  That's  where  I'd  be." 
He  paused  a  moment ;  then,  laying  a  hand  on  Carle- 
ton's  arm,  continued,  "  But  to  the  best  of  my  know- 
ledge, I  really  think  the  worst  is  over,  and  that 
things  are  going  to  right  themselves.  Gradually, 
of  course ;  it's  going  to  take  time ;  but  they'll  right 
themselves,  for  all  that.  And  I  wouldn't  worry 
too  much,  Jack,  if  I  were  you.  I'll  give  you  warn- 
ing anyway,  and  if  worst  should  come  to  worst, 
why,  I  suppose  your  old  man  would  see  you  through, 
wouldn't  he,  if  it  was  a  case  of  that  or  bust?  " 

Carleton  shook  his  head.  "No,  I  guess  not," 
63 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

he  answered,  "  he  would  if  he  could,  but  there's 
something  queer  about  the  property  now.  I  didn't 
know  about  it  till  a  little  while  ago,  and  I  don't  un- 
derstand all  the  details  yet;  but  the  idea  is  that  my 
father's  made  Henry  trustee  of  everything.  Henry's 
the  whole  shooting-match  at  home  now,  you  know. 
So  I  guess  it  wouldn't  do  to  try  the  old  gentleman. 
No,  I've  got  in  too  deep,  like  a  fool,  and  I've  got  to 
get  out  by  myself  or  else  drown;  one  of  the  two. 
But  if  I  can  only  get  by,  this  time,  you  can  bet  I'll 
never  be  such  an  ass  again.  You  see,  Jim,"  he 
added,  ruefully  fenough,  "  I  wanted  to  show  peo- 
ple—" 

Turner  laughed,  though  without  amusement. 
"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  said  dryly,  "  you  wanted  to  come 
the  young  Napoleon  racket.  There've  been  others. 
You  needn't  kick  yourself  for  being  the  only  one. 
But  there  must  be  some  one  that  would  help  you 
out,  Jack.  Why  couldn't  you  go  to  your  uncle  him- 
self?" 

He  made  the  suggestion  casually  enough,  yet 
with  a  shrewd  eye  on  the  younger  man's  expression. 
Carleton  frowned.  "  Well,"  he  answered  doubt- 

64 


A  FOOL  AND  HIS  MONEY 

fully,  "  I'd  hate  to  do  that.  You  know  what  Henry 
and  I  think  of  each  other.  I  suppose  I  could, 
though,  if  I  was  dead  up  against  it.  But  I'm  not 
going  to  worry  yet."  He  glanced  once  more  at  the 
tape;  then  added,  "Things  really  have  steadied, 
haven't  they,  Jim?  I  guess  we're  all  safe  for  to- 
day." 

Turner  did  not  at  once  reply.  The  events  of  the 
last  three  days  had  to  a  large  extent  discouraged  him 
from  hazarding  further  prophecies.  "  Can't  tell," 
he  answered  guardedly,  at  length,  "  can't  tell  these 
days,  but  they've  certainly  steadied  quite  a  bit ;  that's 
sure ;  perhaps  they'll  begin  to  pick  up  now." 

As  he  spoke,  a  clerk  entered  with  a  bundle  of 
papers  in  his  hand.  "  For  you  to  sign,  Mr. 
Turner,"  he  sard,  and  Turner,  taking  them,  de- 
parted into  his  private  office.  One  or  two  quick 
lunchers,  the  vanguard  of  the  returning  stream  of 
regular  patrons,  came  in  at  the  outer  door ;  the  first, 
thin,  pale  and  dyspeptic  looking,  making  hastily  for 
the  ticker,  with  no  attempt  to  conceal  his  anxiety; 
the  other,  stout,  red-faced,  and  philosophic,  fol- 
lowing more  calmly,  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his 

65 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

head,  making  leisurely  exploration  with  a  toothpick 
the  while,  evidently  with  a  certain  not  unpraise- 
worthy  desire  to  show  that  even  in  the  throes  of 
a  panic  a  man  could  still  be  game.  As  they  ap- 
proached, Carleton  glanced  first  at  the  tape,  then 
at  his  watch,  then  at  the  patch  of  blue  sky.  The 
tape  said  that  Akme  Mining  was  seventeen  and  a 
quarter,  and  that  Suburban  Electric  was  sixty-four 
and  a  half;  the  watch  said  that  it  was  twelve- 
fifteen,  and  that  the  twelve-thirty  train  would  get 
him  to  the  Country  Club  in  time  for  lunch;  the 
patch  of  blue  sky  said  "  Come."  -With  a  rather 
guilty  haste  he  walked  quickly  toward  the  door,  for 
a  moment  paused  on  the  threshold,  still  listening 
to  the  whirring  of  the  ticker;  and  then  passed 
hurriedly  out  into  the  street. 

It  was  Championship  Cup  day  at  the  Country 
Club,  and  the  locker  room,  when  Carleton  entered 
it  two  hours  later,  was  crowded  with  excited  men 
in  various  stages  of  dress  and  undress;  men  who 
had  entered  the  Club  five  minutes  before  as  re- 
spectable doctors,  lawyers,  bankers  and  business 

66 


A  FOOL  AND  HIS  MONEY 

men,  and  who,  five  minutes  later,  were  to  emerge  in 
a  common  indecorous  garb  of  faded  flannel  shirt, 
ding}'  gray  trousers  and  shapeless  felt  hats,  mak- 
ing their  way  toward  the  first  tee  with  an  eagerness 
which  in  fulfilling  their  professional  engagements, 
they  \vere  seldom,  if  ever,  seen  to  display. 

Carleton,  entering,  with  the  mechanical  dexterity 
of  long  habit,  almost  with  one  motion  stripped  off 
coat  and  vest,  collar  and  tie,  and  opening  his 
locker,  began  pulling  out  his  clubs  and  his  bat- 
tered golfing  clothes.  He  affected  not  to  see  Hen- 
derson, thin  and  spare  and  brown,  seated  on  a 
bench  with  knees  drawn  up  under  his  chin  and 
clasped  by  bare,  sinewy  arms. 

Presently  his  rival  rose  and  sauntered  over  to 
him  across  the  room.  He  stood  near  Carleton  in 
silence,  and  the  two  eyed  each  other  with  grins, 
hostile,  yet  friendly.  Finally  Henderson  spoke. 
"  Well,"  he  observed,  without  enthusiasm,  "  howr's 
the  boy?  Looking  a  little  bit  fine,  what?  A  little 
bit  pale  for  him,  hey?"  Carleton  laughed,  with 
elaborate  disdain.  "  Oh,  no,  Tommy,"  he  re- 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

turned,  "  can't  catch  me  that  way.  That's  too  old 
a  gag.  Never  felt  better  in  my  life,  thanks.  How 
are  they  scoring?  Barnes  finished  yet?  " 

Henderson  nodded.  "  Played  this  morning,"  he 
said,  "  was  going  fine  till  the  eighteenth,  and  then 
drove  into  the  quarry,  and  dropped  his  nerve. 
Cost  him  nine  for  the  hole,  and  did  an  eighty-five 
at  that.  Said  his  caddie  moved  just  as  he  was 
swinging  back  for  his  drive;  too  bad,  wasn't  it?  " 

His  tone  belied  the  grief  expressed  by  his  last 
words,  and  at  his  humorous  wink  Carleton  openly 
smiled.  Both  could  exult  in  the  common  enjoy- 
ment of  seeing  a  dangerous  rival  put  out  of  the 
running.  "  Yes,  too  bad,"  he  rejoined,  "  his 
eighty-five  the  best  ?  " 

Henderson  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  answered, 
"  fellow  from  Brooklawn  did  an  eighty-three. 
Nothing  much  else  under  ninety,  though;  one  or 
two  eighty-nines,  I  believe,  and  an  eighty-eight; 
better  get  limbered  up  a  bit,  Jack;  it's  getting  near 
our  turn.  See  you  outside." 

Carleton  nodded,  tightened  his  belt  another  hole, 
and  reached  for  his  clubs.  Then,  for  a  moment 

68 


A  FOOL  AND  HIS  MONEY 

turning  his  back  on  the  crowded  room,  he  held  out 
his  hand,  scanning  the  fingers  critically.  His  ideas 
of  conditioning  himself  were  his  own.  He  frowned 
slightly,  shaking  his  head  in  displeasure.  "  That's 
the  first  time  that's  happened  agair  so  soon,"  he 
muttered,  "  I  thought  I  looked  out  for  that  this 
morning.  Well,  I  know  the  answer,  anyway,"  and 
a  couple  of  minutes  later,  wiping  his  lips  with  his 
handkerchief,  he  joined  Henderson  outside  the 
club-house,  and  began  leisurely  to  limber  up. 

It  was  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  when,  in  an- 
swer to  their  names,  they  stepped  forward  to  the 
first  tee.  Henderson,  having  the  honor,  surveyed  his 
footing  with  care,  and  then,  absolutely  cool  and 
phlegmatic,  teed  his  ball,  eyed  the  direction  flag 
\vaving  on  the  cop  bunker  some  seventy  yards  away, 
and  with  his  provokingly  easy  swing  drove  a  ball 
without  much  "  ginger  "  behind  it,  a  trifle  high  yet 
superlatively  safe,  unerring  in  direction  and  with 
some  distance  to  it  as  well,  for  the  road  was  a  full 
hundred  and  fifty  yards  from  the  tee,  and  the  little 
white  sphere  stood  out  plainly  against  the  green  of 
the  turf  some  twenty  yards  beyond.  Still  with  the 

69 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

utmost  deliberation  he  stepped  back  off  the  tee,  and 
Carleton  took  his  place.  His  style  was  almost  the 
antithesis  of  Henderson's.  His  tee  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  pinch  of  the  damp  sand,  just  enough  to 
insure  a  good  lie  for  his  ball;  almost  negligently, 
it  seemed,  he  fell  at  once  into  his  stance,  swinging 
back  with  an  astonishing  freedom,  yet  with  com- 
plete mastery  of  a  somewhat  dashing  style,  and 
coming  through  into  a  finish  absolutely  superb. 
Low  and  straight  sped  his  ball,  hardly  more  than 
twenty  feet  over  the  top  of  the  bunker;  then,  be- 
ginning slowly  to  rise,  soaring  magnificently  on- 
ward, finally  to  come  to  a  stop  some  fifty  or  sixty 
yards  beyond  the  road.  Henderson  whistled  as 
they  walked  down  the  path.  "  Some  one's  feeling 
fine,"  he  said.  "  Glad  you  got  in  one  good  one,  any- 
way, Jack." 

Carleton  smiled  grimly.  "  Oh,  a  few  more  at 
home  like  that  I  guess,"  he  retorted,  "  you've  got  to 
crack  an  eighty  to-day,  Tommy,  if  you  want  to  be 
in  the  game." 

His  second  shot,  indeed,  seemed  to  bear  out  his 
words.  Henderson  had  taken  an  iron,  cleared  the 

70 


A  FOOL  AND  HIS  MONEY 

bunker  that  guarded  the  green,  and  was  safely  on. 
its  farther  edge  in  two,  but  Carleton,  playing  a 
high,  clean  mashie,  with  plenty  of  back-spin,  man- 
aged to  lay  his  ball  up  within  a  dozen  feet  of  the 
flag.  On  the  green  Henderson  putted  true  and 
straight,  his  ball  stopping  so  near  the  hole  as  to 
make  a  four  a  certainty.  Carleton,  with  a  little 
more  deliberation  than  he  had  yet  shown,  eyed 
the  line  of  his  put.  "  Easy,"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self, half-aloud,  "nothing  to  it;  easiest  thing  you 
know;  just  get  the  line,  follow  her  through,  and 
she  —  goes  —  down." 

With  the  final  word  the  ball  ticked  against  the 
farther  edge  of  the  cup,  and  dropped  gently  in  for 
a  three.  Henderson,  holing  out,  whistled  again. 
"  Somebody's  got  their  good  eye  with  'em,"  he 
observed,  and  Carleton,  picking  up  his  ball,  drew 
a  long  breath  of  content.  "  Oh,  the  devil,"  he 
answered  good-naturedly,  "this  is  one  of  my  days; 
I  can  do  anything  I  want  to  to  'em  to-day;  "  and  in 
silence  they  strode  away  for  the  second  tee. 

Outward  for  the  first  nine  holes  they  played,  into^ 
a  world,  green  under  foot  and  blue  and  white  above,. 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

the  sunshine  just  pleasantly  warm,  the  cool  westerly 
breeze  barely  stirring  the  green  leaves  in  the  tree- 
tops,  and  faintly  rousing  the  drooping  direction 
flags  below.  A  world  of  good-fellowship,  a  world 
of  youth  and  joy,  and  withal,  the  rigor  of  the  game 
to  make  them  at  times  wholly  unconscious,  at  times 
all  the  more  conscious,  of  the  glory  above,  around, 
beneath  them.  Henderson,  the  safe  and  sane,  was 
on  his  game,  making  the  first  nine  holes  in  an  even 
forty,  but  Carleton  played  beyond  himself.  Twice 
only  on  the  outward  journey  did  he  make  mis- 
takes, and  for  both  he  atoned  by  pulling  off  two 
shots  well-nigh  marvelous  —  one  a  clean,  slash- 
ing brassie  that  put  him  on  the  edge  of  the  green 
on  the  long  fifth  —  four  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
—  in  two;  one  a  straight,  deadly  put  of  twenty-five 
feet  at  the  eighth;  no  wonder  that  Henderson  un- 
willingly totaled  a  thirty-six  for  his  rival,  puck- 
ered his  lips,  but  this  time  without  the  whistle, 
and  mournfully  shook  his  head.  Coming  in,  in- 
deed, Carleton's  pace  slackened  a  bit,  and  his  play- 
ing became,  in  Henderson's  phrase,  "  considerably 
more  like  a  human  being's."  Mistakes,  one  or  two 

72 


A  FOOL  AND  HIS  MONEY 

of  them  costly,  were  not  lacking;  his  putting  fell  off 
a  bit;  his  confidence  seemed  a  little  to  diminish; 
yet,  spite  of  all,  he  still  played  brilliantly,  and 
when  on  the  eighteenth,  he  drove  a  long,  straight 
ball,  far  over  the  quarry,  with  no  danger  be- 
tween him  and  the  home  hole,  Henderson  was 
forced  to  admit  defeat.  He  himself  finished  as 
steadily  as  ever,  coming  in  without  any  serious 
error,  without  anything  especially  brilliant,  with  a 
card  all  fours  and  fives,  in  forty-two,  and  thus 
handed  it  an  eighty-two  for  the  round.  Carle- 
ton's  card  in  was  more  irregular;  it  was  marred 
by  two  sixes,  but  these  were  balanced  by  two  threes 
and  an  occasional  four,  altogether  forty-one  for 
the  second  nine,  and  a  total  of  seventy-seven. 
Surely,  the  gold  medal  lay  all  but  in  his  grasp, 
and  Henderson,  indeed,  had  the  grace  to  acknow- 
ledge it.  "  You're  all  right,  Jack,"  he  said,  as  they 
parted,  "  see  you  to-morrow  afternoon,  but  I  guess 
you've  got  things  cinched ;  this  is  your  lucky  day ;  " 
and  Carleton,  though  perforce  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  said  that  no  one  could  ever  tell,  felt 
in  his  heart  that  the  prize  was  as  good  as  won. 

73 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

At  the  club-house  he  dressed,  and  then,  finding 
that  he  had  plenty  of  time,  walked  leisurely  down  to 
the  train,  and  started  back  for  town.  For  a  while, 
just  comfortably  tired  with  the  afternoon's  round, 
he  was  content  to  sit  back  in  his  seat  with  passive 
enjoyment,  with  eyes  half  closed,  playing  over 
again  each  stroke  of  the  round  in  pleasant  retro- 
spect, again  smashing  straight  low  balls  from  the 
tee,  again  laying  up  his  approach  shots,  again  suc- 
cessfully holing  long,  difficult  puts.  It  made  pleas- 
ant enough  dreaming,  and  he  sat  thus  until  Hillside 
was  reached. 

Then  suddenly,  two  men,  entering  hurriedly,  took 
the  vacant  seat  behind  him,  evidently  resuming  their 
conversation  where  it  had  been  broken  off  as  they 
had  boarded  the  train.  Their  first  words  drove 
golf  a  million  miles  from  his  brain.  "  So  it  busted 
clean  to  hell,  did  it?  "  asked  the  stout  man,  panting 
with  haste  and  excitement. 

"Did  it?"  echoed  his  companion,  with  a  cer-  j 
tain  dismal  pride,  the  sense  of  proprietorship  that 
one   gains   in   the   communication   of   bad   news, 
"well,  I  should  say  it  did.     Didn't  begin  till  two 

74 


A  FOOL  AND  HIS  MONEY 

o'clock,  and  then,  say,  you  never  saw  such  a  time 
in  your  life.  Smash  —  Bang — Smash!  Every- 
thing thrown  over,  right  and  left;  why,  down  at 
Wellman's—  " 

The  train  roared  into  the  long  tunnel,  and  the 
rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost.  It  was  enough,  and 
Carleton,  sitting  motionless,  felt  a  sudden  sicken- 
ing reaction  creep  over  him.  A  game  of  golf  - 
a  gold  medal  —  and  the  market  again  in  the  grip 
of  a  panic  beside  which  the  first  break  of  three 
days  ago  must  have  been  as  nothing.  And  then, 
insistently,  he  began  to  wonder  —  how  bad  —  how 
bad?  His  margin  had  been  slender  enough  before 
-  hardly  sufficient,  really,  to  pass  muster  unless 
tinctured  with  the  dangerous  kindness  of  friend- 
ship '—  he  clenched  his  hands;  his  mouth  had  gone 
suddenly  dry  — 

Inside  the  smoky  station  the  train  came  to  a  halt. 
Alighting,  he  paused  to  buy  the  evening  papers 
from  a  clamorous  newsboy;  then  without  stopping 
even  to  glance  at  them,  hastened  straight  to  his 
office.  It  was  long  after  the  hour  of  closing.  The 
office  boy  was  gone,  the  door  made  fast.  Un- 

75 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

locking  it,  he  entered,  sat  down  at  his  desk,  and 
began  hastily  to  examine  the  letters  and  memo- 
randa reposing  there.  "  Ring  up  Mr.  Turner," 
was  penciled  half  a  dozen  times  in  the  office  boy's 
round,  sprawling  hand,  with  various  additions,  "  Im- 
portant," "Urgent,"  "At  once."  "Ring  698, 
Lincoln ;  "  that  was  Harris  and  Wheeler's ;  "  Ring 
Main,  422 ; "  that  was  Claxton  Brothers.  He 
turned  to  the  papers.  Lord  above,  what  head- 
lines! Panic  —  market  crash  —  houses  suspended 
—  banks  in  danger  —  half  dazed,  he  gazed  for  a 
moment  around  him,  as  if  doubting  that  it  could 
all  be  real;  then,  with  a  grim  feeling  that  nothing 
could  much  matter  now,  he  read  steadily  the  long 
rows  of  stock  quotations ;  and  ever,  as  he  read  down 
a  column,  values  dropped  downward  with  him,  and 
never,  as  he  turned  to  the  top  of  the  next,  did  they 
rise  again.  Once  more  he  had  to  stop,  unable  to 
grasp  the  truth;  Akme  Mining,  nine  and  a  half; 
Suburban  Electric,  forty-seven;  Fuel,  sixty-three; 
it  was  all  impossible. 

Through  the  slide  in  the  office  door  a  letter  flut- 
tered gently  to  the  floor.     He  rose  and  picked  it 

76 


A  FOOL  AND  HIS  MONEY 

up.  It  had  Turner's  name  in  the  corner.  Inside 
was  a  hasty  scrawl,  "  Things  very  bad ;  must  have 
ten  thousand  additional  margin  at  opening  to- 
morrow, sure."  As  he  laid  it  down,  the  telephone 
rang;  "Yes,"  he  answered,  "Mr.  Harris;  oh,  yes, 
I  know;  five  thousand;  yes;  thanks;  you've  got  to 
have  it  at  the  opening;  all  right;  good-by."  He 
hung  up  the  receiver,  and  turned  to  confront  a 
telegraph  boy  at  his  elbow.  He  hastily  signed,  and 
ripped  open  the  envelope.  This  time  the  laconic 
message  was  from  Claxton  Brothers.  "Good,"  he 
muttered,  "  only  five  thousand  more.  This  is  fine," 
and  he  threw  himself  back  in  his  office  chair,  and  for 
a  moment  or  two  thought  hard.  Then  he  smiled 
ironically.  "  Oh,  yes,"  he  muttered,  "  Henderson 
got  it  right,  as  usual;  this  is  certainly  my  lucky 
day ; "  then  after  a  moment,  he  added,  "  Well,  I 
suppose  it's  a  case  of  must  now.  It's  all  I  can  do." 
He  rose,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  thrusting 
the  papers  into  his  pocket,  he  hurriedly  left  the 
office. 


77 


CHAPTER  V 

A   QUESTION   OF   HONOR 

"What  is  left  when  honour  is  lost?" 

Publius  Syrus. 

TWILIGHT  was  falling  over  The  Birches,  and 
Edward  Carleton,  seated  alone  on  the  piazza, 
gazed  out  over  the  darkening  fields  into  a  world 
of  ever  blending  shadows  and  onward  creeping 
dusk.  Always,  as  long  as  the  weather  permitted, 
after  his  evening  meal,  he  loved  to  sit  there,  puff- 
ing quietly  at  his  big,  old-fashioned,  curved  pipe, 
and  letting  his  memory  roam  back  at  will  through 
scene  after  scene  from  the  long  years  that  now  lay 
behind  him;  or  sometimes,  more  rarely,  living  in 
the  present,  content  merely  to  gaze  out  on  blos- 
soming flower,  and  tree  in  full  leaf;  to  watch  the 
fiery  colors  of  the  sunset  glow  and  die  in  the  far- 
off  west ;  to  hear  from  the  orchard  across  the  road 
a  robin  singing  his  good-night  song;  to  listen  to 

78 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

the  thousand  wonderful  secrets  which  Nature  at 
the  last  loves  to  whisper  to  those  who  have  lived 
their  lives  pure  in  deed  and  word,  and  who  have 
journeyed  far  onward  into  the  shadow,  still  kindly 
and  serene,  with  the  wonderful  dreams  of  childhood 
making  beautiful  their  minds,  and  in  their  hearts 
the  faith  of  little  children. 

Often  Henry  Carleton  sat  there  with  him,  but 
to-night  the  old  man  was  alone.  An  hour  ago,  a 
message  had  come  from  Henry,  saying  that  he 
would  not  be  home  until  the  following  evening  — 
perhaps  not  even  then  —  that  business  matters  of 
importance  had  arisen,  making  it  necessary  that  he 
should  remain  in  town.  Characteristic  of  Henry 
Carleton's  unfailing  thought  fulness  the  message 
had  been,  and  it  was  of  his  brother,  and,  with  a  half- 
sigh,  of  Jack  as  well,  that  Edward  Carleton  was 
thinking  now,  as  the  darkness  pressed  closer  and 
closer  around  the  old  house  that  had  sheltered  for 
so  many  generations  so  many  fathers  and  sons  of 
the  Carleton  blood. 

From  the  entrance  to  the  gravel  walk,  the  sound 
79 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

of  footsteps  smote  briskly  on  his  ear  and  he 
glanced  up  to  see  a  tall  and  familiar  figure  coming 
up  the  path.  A  moment  later,  and  Jack  had 
hastily  mounted  the  steps,  scarce  seeming  to  heed 
his  father's  greeting,  and  speaking  at  once,  in  a 
voice  strangely  unlike  his  own.  "  Father/'  he  said, 
"where's  Henry?" 

The  old  man  gazed  at  him  in  surprise.  "  He's 
not  at  home,  Jack,"  he  answered,  and  then,  with  a 
momentary  foreboding,  "  What  is  it,  my  boy  ? 
Nothing  wrong  ?  " 

Jack  laughed,  a  little  grimly.  "  No,  nothing  like 
that,"  he  answered,  "  I'm  in  trouble,  that's  all.  I've 
stayed  too  long  in  a  falling  market,  and  got  caught. 
If  I  can't  get  help  from  Henry,  I  guess  I'm  done." 

In  the  darkness  Edward  Carleton  reached  out 
his  hand,  and  laid  it  on  his  son's  shoulder.  "  My 
dear  boy,"  he  said,  "  I'm  sorry.  If  only  Henry  has 
the  money  available.  But  I  don't  know.  These 
must  be  terrible  times  for  every  one.  Tell  him  if 
there's  any  way  he  can  use  what  he  holds  for  me, 
that  I  asked  him  to  do  so.  I'm  so  sorry,  Jack  — 
so  sorry  — " 

80 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

With  what  was  for  him  unusual  feeling,  Jack  took 
his  father's  hand  in  both  his  awn.  "  Thank  you, 
father,"  he  said,  "  I  know  you  are.  It's  all  my 
own  fault,  of  course.  I  don't  deserve  any  help. 
But  it's  all  come  so  suddenly.  I  never  thought  — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  then  spoke  again.  "  Well, 
I  suppose  I  must  get  back  in  town,  I  haven't  much 
time.  I  never  dreamed  of  not  rinding  Henry  here. 
I'm  sorry  I  can't  stay.  Good  night,  father,"  and 
he  was  gone. 

It  was  nearly  two  hours  later  when  he  hastened 
down  Adams  Street  toward  the  Harmon  Building, 
where  high  overhead  in  many  a  window,  lights 
ordinarily  extinguished  by  five  or  six  o'clock,  were 
still  burning  brightly;  some  of  them,  indeed,  des- 
tined to  gleam  and  flicker  throughout  that  long, 
anxious  summer's  night,  and  only  to  pale  at  last  as 
the  first  faint  streaks  of  dawn  struck  through  the 
shades  on  the  men  who  planned  and  toiled  within, 
working  feverishly,  with  gray,  unshaven  faces,  and 
weary,  bloodshot,  deep-sunken  eyes. 

Getting  out  of  the  elevator  at  the  fourth  floor, 
Jack  hastily  made  his  way  into  Henry  Carleton's 

81 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

offices.  Once  there,  however,  although  his  name 
was  quickly  sent  in,  he  was  compelled  to  wait 
for  a  full  half  hour  in  the  outer  corridor,  until  at 
length  a  bell  rang  sharply,  and  a  tired  looking  clerk, 
with  a  nod  of  his  head  toward  the  inner  office,  sig- 
nified that  the  audience  was  granted.  With  a  cur- 
ious sense  of  old-time  familiarity,  Jack  entered  the 
big  square  room  which  he  had  visited  last,  now  up- 
ward of  three  years  ago,  and  closed  the  door  be- 
hind him. 

Over  by  the  window,  Henry  Carleton  was  seated 
at  his  desk.  He  was  a  man  of  about  fifty,  in  com- 
plexion so  dark  as  to  appear  almost  swarthy,  and 
with  coal  black  hair  and  beard,  here  and  there  just 
faintly  touched  with  gray.  He  was  tall,  much  of 
Jack's  height  and  build,  yet  constructed  upon  finer 
lines,  with  a  sinuous  grace  of  movement  that  had 
about  it  something  almost  feline.  His  face  was 
rather  long,  the  forehead  and  cheek-bones  high, 
the  eyes  were  black  and  piercing,  and  the  lips  of  the 
strong,  well-chiseled  mouth  noticeably  full  and 
red.  Altogether,  an  interesting  face,  a  fitting  index 
to  the  dual  personality  of  the  man  —  Henry  Carle- 

82 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

ton  the  shrewd  and  able  leader  in  the  business 
world,  and  Henry  Carleton  the  musician  and  man 
of  letters  —  the  artist  to  his  finger-tips. 

As  Jack  entered,  he  glanced  up  pleasantly  enough, 
though  far  back  in  his  eyes  there  lurked  a  hidden 
gleam  of  some  emotion  difficult  to  fathom.  "  Why, 
hello,  Jack,"  he  said,  "  I'm  surprised  to  see  you. 
What  brings  you  here?  Sit  down."  He  motioned 
toward  a  chair. 

Jack  Carleton  came  fonvard  into  the  room,  stand- 
ing a  little  awkwardly  with  his  hand  on  the  back  of 
the  proffered  seat.  "  It's  the  market,  Henry,"  he 
said  briefly,  "  I've  got  caught.  I  have  to  raise 
twenty  thousand  by  the  opening  to-morrow,  or  go 
under.  I've  just  come  from  home;  I  thought  I'd 
find  you  there.  I'll  tell  you  the  truth.  I  hate  like 
hell  to  come  to  you,  and  you  know  it,  but  I've  got 
to  get  the  money  somehow,  and  if  you  can  help  me, 
I  wish  to  Heaven  you  would." 

Henry  Carleton  gazed  at  him  meditatively. 
"  Better  sit  down,"  he  said  curtly,  and  this  time 
Jack  accepted  the  invitation.  There  was  a  short 
silence.  Then  Henry  Carleton  drew  a  tiny  note- 

83 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

book  from  his  pocket,  and  looked  up,  with  pencil 
poised,  "  Now  let's  have  it,"  he  said. 

Jack  Carleton  frowned.  It  was  easy  enough  to 
see  that  the  confession  of  his  sins  was  little  less 
than  torture  to  him.  "  Well,"  he  began,  a  trifle 
defiantly,  "  it's  like  this.  I've  got  in  a  trifle 
deeper  than  I  meant  to  when  I  started.  Things 
looked  so  like  a  cinch,  I  couldn't  help  it.  I've  fif- 
teen hundred  shares  of  Surburban  Electric,  and 
seven  hundred  Akme  Mining,  and  five  hundred 
Fuel,  and  a  little  other  stuff  besides.  My  heaviest 
account's  with  Turner  and  Driver;  then  I've  got 
an  account  with  Harris  and  Wheeler,  and  another 
with  Claxton  Brothers;  altogether — " 

Piece  by  piece  the  whole  story  came  out.  Henry 
Carleton  wrote,  figured,  meditated;  asked  a  ques- 
tion here,  another  there;  meditated  again.  Finally 
he  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind.  He  spoke  with 
deliberation,  weighing  his  words.  "  No  one  can 
tell,"  he  said,  "  what  the  next  twenty-four  hours  are 
going  to  bring.  But  what  you  ought  to  do  is 
clear.  You've  got  to  lighten  up,  to  start  with. 
Close  out  your  account  with  Harris,  and  with  the 

84 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

Claxtons ;  hang  on  to  what  you  have  at  Turner  and 
Driver's,  if  you  can.  That's  enough;  and  that's 
our  problem:  how  best  to  try  to  carry  it  through." 

As  if  the  words  brought  him  measureless  com- 
fort, Jack  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  "You 
think,  then,"  he  asked,  almost  timidly,  "  you  can 
fix  it  somehow?  You  think  you  can  get  me  by?  " 

Henry  Carleton  did  not  at  once  reply,  and  when 
he  finally  spoke,  it  was  but  to  answer  Jack's  ques- 
tion with  another.  "  Have  you  done  everything 
you  can  yourself?  "  he  queried.  "  Where  else  have 
you  tried  ?  " 

Jack  gave  a  short  mirthless  laugh.  "  Where 
haven't  I  tried?  "  he  retorted.  "  I've  tackled  about 
every  friend  and  acquaintance  I've  got  in  the  world. 
I  began  four  days  ago.  And  I've  had  the  same 
identical  come-back  from  every  one  of  them. 
They're  sorry,  but  they  have  to  look  out  for  them- 
selves first  And  security.  They  all  talk  about 
that.  I  never  knew  before  that  security  cut  such 
a  lot  of  ice  with  people.  But  it  does." 

Henry  Carleton  nodded  grimly.  "  Yes,  it  does,'r 
he  answered  dryly,  "  most  of  us  make  that  discovery 

85 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

sooner  or  later.  And  generally  for  ourselves,  too. 
And  when  you  mention  security,  Jack,  you've  come 
right  down  to  the  root  of  the  whole  trouble.  We 
might  as  well  acknowledge  it  now.  I  can't  help 
you  myself.  I  tell  you  so  frankly.  I  couldn't  use 
trust  funds  for  such  a  purpose,  of  course.  Any  one 
would  tell  you  that.  That's  out  of  the  question. 
And  my  own  money  is  hopelessly  tied  up.  I 
couldn't  get  the  sum  you  need  under  a  month,  if  I 
could  then.  But  there's  one  thing  I  might  do. 
It  isn't  business.  I  hate  to  try  it.  But  I  don't  want 
to  see  you  disgraced,  Jack,  if  I  can  help  it.  Wait 
here  a  minute,  till  I  see — " 

He  rose  and  walked  over  to  the  telephone  booth 
in  the  rear  of  his  office,  and  entering,  closed  the  door 
behind  him.  In  two  minutes  he  came  back  to  his 
desk,  penciled  a  name  on  a  card,  and  handed  it  to 
Jack.  "  This  fellow  Farrington,"  he  said  shortly, 
"  is  under  some  obligations  to  me.  I  think  you'll 
get  what  you  want  from  him.  Better  see  him  any- 
way. He's  in  the  Jefferson  Building,  top  floor.  I 
told  him  you'd  be  there  in  ten  minutes,  at  the  most." 

Jack  Carleton  rose.  "  I'm  much  obliged, 
86 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

Henry,"  he  said,  a  little  lamely,  "  you're  very  good. 
I'm  much  obliged.     I'll  go  right  over,  of  course." 

The  other  stood  gazing  at  him  with  a  curious  ex- 
pression on  his  swarthy  face,  a  curious  gleam  far 
back  in  his  dark  eyes.  "  Don't  mention  it,"  he 
said  smoothly,  "  Carletons  must  stand  together, 
Jack.  We  mustn't  bring  dishonor  on  the  name, 
whatever  we  do." 

Unerringly  he  had  pierced  the  /veak  joint  in  the 
armor.  Jack's  face  went  whiter  than  before.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  silent,  then  spoke  with  effort. 
"  No,"  he  answered,  "  we  mustn't  do  that,"  and 
turning,  he  left  the  room. 

Up-town  toward  the  Jefferson  Building  he  hur- 
ried, half-daring,  yet  half-fearing,  to  hope.  Noting 
the  number  of  the  room  on  the  framed  directory 
placarded  within,  he  kft  the  elevator  at  the  tenth 
floor,  and  hastening  down  the  corridor,  paused  op- 
posite the  door.  Externally  the  office  was  a  modest 
one,  with  "  H.  O.  Farrington,  Agent  "  inscribed  in 
plain  black  lettering  on  the  glass.  Entering,  he 
found  the  interior  to  correspond.  A  tiny  room, 
with  a  small  enclosure  at  one  end,  within  which  sat 

87 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Farrington  himself,  a  man  perhaps  best  described 
by  saying  that  he  perfectly  typified  that  somewhat 
vague  being  whom  most  of  us  have  in  mind  when 
we  speak  glibly  of  the  "  average  man."  "  Aver- 
age "  best  described  him  in  height,  build,  and  ap- 
pearance, the  nondescript  sort  of  person  whom  one 
meets  on  Monday,  and  passes  in  the  street  on  Tues- 
day, wholly  unconscious  of  ever  having  seen  him 
before. 

As  Jack  entered,  he  glanced  up  quickly.  "  Mr. 
Carleton?"  he  questioned,  and  as  Jack  nodded, 
motioned  to  a  chair.  "  Just  a  minute,"  he  said,  and 
bent  over  his  writing  again.  Presently,  as  he 
stopped,  and  reached  for  a  sheet  of  blotting  paper, 
Jack  ventured  to  speak.  "  I  don't  know  how  much 
you  know  about  this — "  he  began,  but  the  other 
raised  his  hand.  "  All  right,"  he  said  briefly,  and 
shoved  a  check  and  a  receipt  across  the  desk,  "  Sign, 
please." 

Mechanically  Jack  glanced  at  the  check.  It  was 
for  the  amount  required.  Mechanically,  too,  he 
signed  the  receipt,  and  handed  it  back  to  Farring- 
ton. Half  unable  to  realize  his  good  fortune,  he 

88 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

rose,  the  check  in  his  hand.  "  I'm  greatly  obliged,'* 
he  said. 

Farrington  made  no  reply.  Evidently  words 
with  him  were  precious  things.  Perforce  Jack 
turned  to  go,  and  then,  half-way  to  the  door, 
turned. 

"  Mr.  Farrington,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "  if  things 
should  go  lower  — " 

Farrington  did  not  look  up.  "  They  won't/'  he 
said  tersely. 

Again  Jack  hesitated.  Then,  finally,  "  But  if 
they  should---"  he  said  again. 

A  little  impatiently,  Farrington  raised  his  head. 
"  We'll  see  you  through,"  he  said.  "  Good  night." 
And  Jack,  not  disposed  to  quarrel  further  with  for- 
tune, closed  the  door  behind  him. 

It  was  a  quarter  of  ten  on  the  morning  following 
when  he  entered  Turner  and  Driver's  office,  ad- 
vancing to  meet  the  senior  partner  with  the  little 
strip  of  paper  in  his  outstretched  hand.  Turner 
took  it  eagerly  enough,  and  as  he  scanned  the 
amount,  he  nodded,  while  a  wrinkle  or  two  seemed 
to  vanish  from  his  puckered  and  frowning  brow. 

89 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Then  he  looked  up.  "  Well,  you  got  it,"  he  said, 
and  Carleton  hastened  to  assent.  "  Oh,  yes,"  he 
returned  lightly,  "  I  got  it  all  right.  Why,  didn't 
you  think  I  would  ?  " 

The  broker  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Hard 
telling  anything  these  days,"  he  answered,  "  but 
I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  though ;  you're  mighty  lucky 
to  be  able  to  put  your  hands  on  it  so  easy.  There'll 
be  more  than  one  poor  devil  this  morning  who 
would  pretty  near  give  his  soul  for  a  tenth  part  of 
what  you've  got  here.  It's  a  bad  time  for  custom- 
ers, Jack,  and  I  don't  mind  telling  you  — "  he  low- 
ered his  voice  confidentially  — "  that  it's  a  bad  time 
for  brokers,  too.  A  little  piece  of  paper  like 
this  — "  he  waved  the  check  gently  to  and  fro  — 
"  is  a  nice  comforting  sight  for  a  man ;  between  you 
and  me,  I  wouldn't  mind  seeing  three  or  four  mates 
to  it.  Yes,  I'm  glad  to  get  it  all  right,  on  my  ac- 
count, and  on  yours,  too." 

Jack  nodded.  Somehow,  entirely  without  justi- 
fication, as  he  well  knew,  the  check  had  given  him  a 
feeling  of  great  stability;  at  once,  on  receiving  it, 
he  had  felt  that  he  had  risen  in  his  own  self-esteem. 

90 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

"  Yes,"  he  assented,  "  I'm  glad  myself ;  and  you 
needn't  worry  about  my  account,  Jim.  We'll  just 
leave  it  this  way.  Don't  treat  mine  as  an  ordinary 
account ;  don't  sell  me  out,  whatever  happens.  I've 
friends  that'll  see  me  through  anything.  If 
things  should  go  lower,  and  you  should  need  more 
margin,  just  let  me  know,  and  I'll  get  it  over  to  you 
right  away.  Will  that  be  satisfactory?" 

The  broker  nodded.  "Why,  yes,  Jack,"  he  an- 
swered, "  knowing  the  way  you're  fixed,  I  guess 
that'll  be  all  right,  though  with  nine  men  out  of 
ten,  of  course  I  wouldn't  consider  such  a  way  of 
doing  things.  Business  is  business,  and  when  it 
comes  right  down  to  the  fine  point,  why,  it's  the 
cold  hard  cash  that  counts,  and  nothing  else;  not 
friendship,  or  honor,  or  gratitude,  or  common  de- 
cency, even — "  both  face  and  voice  had  hardened 
as  he  spoke;  it  was  not  his  first  panic  —  and  then 
his  look  met  Carleton's  fairly  and  squarely.  "  But 
with  you,  Jack,"  he  continued,  "  it's  different,  as  I 
say.  Only  let's  be  perfectly  sure  that  we  under- 
stand each  other.  I  don't  believe  myself,  you  know, 
that  things  can  go  much  lower ;  I  think  the  chances 

91 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

are  they've  steadied  for  good;  but  for  argument, 
let's  suppose  they  do.  Then,  as  I  understand  it, 
you  don't  want  to  have  me  sell  you  out  at  any  price, 
no  matter  how  far  they  break.  You'll  make  good 
any  time  I  ask  you  to.  You  give  me  your  word 
on  that  ?  " 

Carleton  readily  enough  assented.  "  Why,  sure," 
he  answered  lightly,  "of  course  I  do;  you  needn't 
worry;  I'll  make  good,"  and  the  broker  nodded, 
well  pleased. 

"  One  thing  less  to  bother  over,  then,"  he  said. 
"  You'll  excuse  me  now,  Jack,  won't  you  ?  This  is 
going  to  be  a  horrible  busy  day,  anyway,  and  the 
Lord  send  it's  nothing  worse  than  that ;  it  wouldn't 
take  much  now  to  raise  the  very  deuce." 

As  he  spoke  the  News  Despatch  boy  entered, 
tossing  down  on  the  table  a  half  dozen  sheets  fresh 
from  the  press.  Turner  glanced  at  them,  and 
handed  them  over  to  Carleton,  shaking  his  head  as 
he  did  so.  "  London's  not  feeling  gay,"  he  ob- 
served, "  I  call  that  a  pretty  ragged  opening  my- 
self. I  don't  know  what  you  think  of  it." 

Carleton  read  and  nodded.  It  seemed  as  if 
92 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

everything  in  the  haff  dozen  pages  made  for  dis- 
couragement. London  had  opened  weak  —  lament- 
ably weak.  There  were  rumors  of  this  —  rumors 
of  that  —  sickly,  unhealthy  mushroom  growths  of 
the  night.  There  was  talk  of  failures  —  suspen- 
sions —  financial  troubles  of  every  kind  —  even  the 
good  name  of  a  great  bank  was  bandied  carelessly 
to  and  fro.  Silently  Turner  crossed  the  room,  and 
took  his  seat  at  his  desk;  silently  Carleton  walked 
out  into  the  customers'  room,  and  joined  the  other 
unfortunates  who  had  come  slowly  straggling  in,, 
and  who  now  stood  around  the  ticker,  waiting 
gloomily  and  apprehensively  for  the  opening  bell  to 
ring. 

The  tension  of  the  moment  was  plainly  enough 
to  be  read  in  the  attitudes  and  expressions  of  the 
members  of  the  little  group,  not  one  of  whom  failed 
in  some  manner  or  other  to  betray  the  fact  that  he 
was  far  from  possessing  his  usual  poise  and  calm. 
Most  of  them,  either  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
showed  their  nervousness  so  plainly  and  even  pain- 
fully that  it  was  impossible  to  misinterpret  the  anx- 
ious glances  cast  first  at  the  clock,  then  at  the  tape, 

93 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

as  the  moment  of  the  opening  drew  near.  One  or 
two,  indeed,  essayed  a  nonchalance  so  obviously  as- 
sumed as  to  render  even  more  apparent  the  emotion 
it  sought  to  conceal.  One  young  fellow,  with  hat 
shoved  far  back  on  his  head,  hair  in  disorder,  and  a 
restless,  frightened  look  in  his  eyes,  glanced  at 
Carleton  as  he  approached. 

"  How  you  standing  it,  Jack  ?  "  he  queried,  with 
a  faint  attempt  at  jocularity.  "  Bad  night  to  sleep 
last  night,  7  called  it ;  guess  most  likely  'twas  some- 
thing in  the  air." 

Another  man,  he  of  the  toothpick,  stout  and 
coarse,  held  forth  at  some  length  for  the  benefit  of 
the  rest.  "  Oh,  it  was  perfectly  clear,  the  whole 
thing,"  he  was  saying,  with  the  air  of  one  to  whom 
all  the  mysteries  and  marvels  of  stock  fluctuations 
are  but  as  matters  writ  large  in  print  the  most  plain. 
"  You  see  Rockman  and  Sharp  and  Haverfeller  got 
together  on  this  thing,  and  then  they  had  a  confer- 
ence with  Horgan,  and  got  him  to  say  that  he'd  keep 
his  hands  off,  and  let  things  alone ;  then  they  had  a 
clear  chance,  and  you  can  see  what  they've  done 

94 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

with  it ;  oh,  they're  clever  all  right ;  when  those  fel- 
lows get  together,  it's  time  to  look  out;  you  can't 
beat  'em." 

He  spoke  with  a  certain  condescending  finality,  as 
if  he  had  somehow  once  and  for  all  fixed  the  status 
of  the  panic.  After  a  moment  or  two  a  gray, 
scholarly  looking  little  man,  with  gentle,  puzzled 
eyes,  addressed  him,  speaking  with  an  air  of  timid 
respect  for  the  stout  man's  evident  knowledge. 

"  Do  you  imagine,  sir,"  he  asked,  "  that  securi- 
ties will  decline  still  further  in  value?  If  they 
should,  I  am  afraid  that  I  might  find  myself  ser- 
iously involved.  I  can't  seem  to  understand  this 
whole  affair ;  I  was  led  to  believe  — " 

The  big  man,  charmed  with  the  novelty  of  having 
a  genuine,  voluntary  listener,  interrupted  him  at 
once. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  have  to  worry,"  he  said  largely, 
"  they  might  open  'em  off  a  little  lower,  perhaps, 
but  they'll  go  back  again.  Don't  you  fret ;  the  coun- 
try's all  right;  they'll  come  back;  they  always  do." 

The  little  man  seemed  vastly  comforted.  "  I'm 
95 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  he  answered.  "  It 
would  come  very  hard  —  I  had  no  idea  the  risk  was 
so  great  —  I  was  led  to  believe  — " 

The  young  man  with  the  rumpled  hair  turned  a 
trifle  disgustedly  to  Carleton.  "  Heard  from  Lon- 
don?" he  asked  abruptly.  His  brief,  and  not 
wholly  unintelligent  connection  with  the  game  had 
led  him  to  believe  firmly  in  facts  and  figures,  not  in 
the  dangerous  pastime  of  theorizing  over  values,  or 
speculating  as  to  what  the  next  move  of  the  "  big 
fellows  "  might  be. 

Carleton  nodded.  "  Weak,"  he  answered,  his 
tone  pitched  low  and  meant  for  his  neighbor's  ear 
only,  "  horribly  weak;  and  all  sorts  of  stories  start- 
ing, too;  it  looks  as  bad  as  it  could." 

The  young  man  nodded.  "  I  supposed  so,"  he 
said,  with  resignation,  and  then  added  whimsically, 
"  Well,  there's  no  use  crying  about  it,  I  guess,  but 
it  certainly  looks  as  if  this  was  the  time  when  little 
Willie  gets  it  good  and  plenty,  right  in  the  neck." 

Just  in  front  of  them,  a  pale,  slender  man,  with 
blinking  eyes,  and  a  mumbling,  trembling  mouth 
that  was  never  still,  talked  steadily  in  an  under- 

96 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

tone,  apparently  partly  to  himself,  partly  to  the  man 
who  stood  at  his  shoulder,  a  red-faced  farmer  with 
a  hundred  shares  of  Akme  at  stake.  "  Now'd  be 
the  time,"  he  muttered,  "  now'd  be  the  time  to  jump 
right  in;  jump  right  in  and  buy  four  or  five  thou- 
sand shares;  a  man  could  make  a  fortune,  and  get 
out  for  good;  it's  the  chance  of  a  man's  life;  to 
jump  right  in  and  buy  four  or  five  thousand  share:;." 

The  countryman  gazed  at  him  in  silence,  sizing 
him  up  at  first  curiously,  and  then  with  a  certain 
amused  and  not  unkindly  contempt.  "  Four  or 
five  thousand!"  he  said,  at  last.  "That  ain't 
enough.  Buy  ten  thousand  while  you're  at  it. 
You'll  get  twice  as  rich  then,"  but  the  nervous  man 
seemed  to  take  no  offense,  and  indeed,  not  even  to 
notice  the  remark.  "  Now's  the  time,"  he  rambled 
on,  and  it  was  clear  that  it  was  to  himself  alone 
that  his  mumblings  were  addressed,  "  to  jump  right 
in ;  that's  the  thing  to  do." 

To  Carleton,  all  at  once  it  seemed  that  the  group 
around  the  ticker  was  a  gathering  merely  of  the 
wrecks  of  men  —  of  idle  fools  of  greater  or  less 
degree.  All  of  them  he  pitied,  except  the  big, 

97 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

coarse  man  with  the  toothpick,  for  whom  he  felt 
a  huge  dislike;  and  most  of  all  his  pity  went  out  to 
the  gentle  man  with  the  puzzled  eyes;  something 
unfair  there  seemed  to  be  in  such  a  one  being  de- 
coyed into  the  market  game  —  something  repel- 
lant,  as  if  one  had  lied,  deliberately  and  maliciously, 
to  a  child.  Pity  or  anger  —  old  or  young  —  was 
there  in  all  the  group,  he  reflected  with  sudden  dis- 
taste, one  real  man?  And  then,  instant  and  un- 
expected, a  lightning  flame  of  keenest  irony  seemed 
to  sear  its  way  into  his  very  soul ;  suppose  Farring- 
ton  had  withheld  the  check?  Was  there,  in  all  the 
group,  himself  included,  one  real  man  — 

The  bell  rang.  The  ticker  whirred.  For  a 
moment  the  dozen  heads  were  grouped  closely  to- 
gether over  the  tape,  and  then  —  the  first  quotation, 
five  hundred  Fuel  at  fifty-seven,  gave  warning  of 
the  truth;  and  the  second  and  third  verified  it  be- 
yond all  doubt  or  questioning.  No  further  need  of 
argument ;  no  further  agony ;  the  suspense  was  over. 
So  weak  was  the  opening  as  to  be  almost  incredible, 
so  weak  that  it  took  a  moment  or  two  to  adjust 
oneself  to  the  shock.  Akme  Mining  had  closed  the 

98 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

night  before  at  ten.  Carleton,  figuring  on  the  low- 
est, had  imagined  that  it  might  open  at  eight  and  a 
half,  or  even  eight.  Two  thousand  shares  came 
over  the  tape  at  six  and  a  quarter.  Everything 
else  was  in  like  ratio ;  everything  else  kept  the  same 
proportion  —  or  lack  of  it.  For  perhaps  ten  sec- 
onds there  was  silence  absolute,  and  then  the  reac- 
tion came.  The  young  man  with  the  rumpled  hair 
turned  sharply  away,  his  hands  thrust  deep  into  his 
trousers'  pockets,  his  lips  curiously  twisted  and  con- 
torted, the  tip  of  his  tongue  showing  between  his 
teeth.  He  gazed  up  at  the  blank  wall,  nodding  un- 
smilingly  to  himself.  "  I  thought  so,"  he  observed, 
quietly,  "  in  the  neck." 

The  man  with  the  mumbling  mouth  started  again 
to  speak.  "  Now,"  he  muttered,  "  now  would  be 
the  time;  to  jump  right  in — "  and  then,  as  if  just 
for  a  moment  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  himself  and 
the  figure  he  made,  old  and  futile,  worn  out  and 
wan,  he  stopped  abruptly,  rubbing  his  eyes,  and  for 
a  time  spoke  no  more,  only  standing  there  motion- 
less, with  the  force  of  a  habit  too  strong  to  be 
broken,  glancing  down  unseeingly  at  the  rows  of  lit- 

99 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

tie  black  letters  and  figures  that  issued  steadily  from 
the  ticker,  only  to  pass,  unregarded  and  unmeaning, 
beneath  the  vacancy  of  his  gaze. 

Carleton  had  stood  staring  grimly  with  the  rest. 
In  a  moment  he  felt  a  hand  laid  upon  his  arm,  and 
turned  to  meet  the  wistful  glance  of  the  little  gray 
man,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  asked  timidly, 
"  but  can  you  tell  me  at  what  price  Kentucky  Coal 
is  selling?  I  dislike  to  trouble  you,  but  I  am  en- 
tirely unfamiliar  with  the  abbreviations  used." 

Carleton  nodded  with  the  feeling  that  he  might  as 
well  deal  the  little  man  a  blow  squarely  between  the 
«yes.  "  Forty-eight,"  he  said  shortly. 

The  little  man  turned  very  pale.  "  Forty-eight," 
he  repeated  mechanically,  "  can  it  be  so  ?  Forty- 
eight  ! "  He  shook  his  head  slowly  from  side  to 
side,  then  glanced  at  Carleton  with  a  smile  infinitely 
gentle  and  pathetic.  "  And  to  earn  it,"  he  mur- 
mured, "  took  me  twenty  years ;  "  and  then  again, 
after  a  pause,  "  twenty  years ;  and  I'm  afraid  I'm 
pretty  old  to  begin  again  now." 

Carleton's  heart  smote  him.  Gladly  enough 
would  he  have  sought  to  aid,  if  a  half  of  his  own 

100 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

depleted  fortune  had  remained  to  him.  He  stood 
for  a  moment  as  if  in  a  dream.  The  whole  scene 
—  the  familiar  office,  the  stock-board,  the  ticker,  the 
disheartened,  discouraged  group  of  unsuccessful 
gamblers  —  it  was  all  real  enough,  and  yet  at  the 
same  time  about  it  all  there  clung  an  air  somehow 
theatric,  melodramatic,  hard  of  realization.  Then, 
from  the  doorway,  Turner  called  him  sharply,  and 
he  hastened  into  the  private  office.  Outwardly,  the 
broker  still  had  a  pretty  good  grip  on  himself,  but 
in  his  tone  his  rising  excitement  was  easily  enough 
discerned.  "  Look,  Jack,"  he  said  quickly,  "  things 
are  bad;  there's  all  sorts  of  talk  coming  over  our 
private  wire.  Hell's  broke  loose ;  that's  the  amount 
of  it.  I  want  you  to  get  me  ten  thousand  on 
your  account  as  quick  as  the  Lord'll  let  you; 
get  fifteen,  if  you  can.  It's  better  for  us  both  that 
way.  Saves  worrying  —  any  more  than  anybody 
can  help.  And  Jack,"  he  added,  "  I'm  not  supposed 
to  know  this,  neither  are  you.  But  they're  letting 
go  a  raft  of  your  father's  stuff  over  at  Brown's.  I 
don't  know  what  the  devil  it  means,  but  I  call  it  a 
mighty  bad  sign." 

101 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Carleton  nodded,  and  without  wasting  time,  left 
the  room.  The  ten  minutes'  walk  between  Turner's 
office  and  the  Jefferson  Building  he  covered  in  half 
that  time,  and  striding  hastily  down  the  corridor, 
had  almost  reached  Farrington's  door  when  a  tall, 
red-faced  young  man,  emerging  with  equal  speed, 
pulled  up  short  to  avoid  the  threatened  collision,  and 
stood  back  for  Carleton  to  enter.  Glancing  at  him, 
Jack  recognized  a  casual  acquaintance,  and  nodded 
to  him  as  he  passed.  "  How  are  you,  Cummings?  " 
he  said,  and  the  other,  looking  at  him  a  little  cur- 
iously, returned  his  salutation,  and  then  passed 
quickly  on. 

Farrington  was  seated  at  his  desk,  and  Jack  at 
once,  and  without  ceremony,  entered.  Farrington, 
glancing  up,  acknowledged  his  greeting,  with  a  curt 
nod;  then  looked  at  him  with  questioning  gaze. 
"Well?"  he  said. 

"  Well,"  Jack  echoed,  a  trifle  deprecatingly,  "  you 
can  guess  what  I've  come  for,  I  suppose.  You  saw 
the  opening.  I  want  ten  thousand  more  —  fifteen, 
if  I  can  have  it  —  but  ten  will  do." 

Farrington  looked  him  straight  in  the  eye. 
1 02 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

"  Ten  will  do,"  he  echoed ;  then,  dryly,  "  I  should 
think  it  would."  He  paused  for  the  veriest  instant, 
then  added,  with  the  utmost  directness,  "  It's  no  go, 
Mr.  Carleton.  I'm  caught  myself.  I  can't  let  you 
have  a  cent." 

At  the  words  the  blood  seemed  suddenly  to  leave 
Jack  Carleton's  heart.  Something  tightened  in  his 
throat,  and  a  faint  mist  seemed  to  gather  between 
Farrington's  face  and  his  own.  Then,  as  he  came 
to  himself,  "  Can't  let  me  have  it !  "  he  cried  sharply. 
"  Why,  you  told  me  last  night  you'd  see  me  through, 
you  won't  go  back  on  your  word  now.  The 
money's  promised.  It's  too  late." 

Farrington's  face  was  expressionless.  "  You 
don't  realize,"  he  said,  "  what  a  time  this  is.  It's 
one  day  out  of  a  million  —  the  worst  there's  ever 
been.  If  I  could  have  foreseen — " 

The  telephone  on  his  desk  rang  sharply,  and  he 
turned  to  answer  it.  Jack  Carleton  sat  as  if 
stunned.  This  man  had  lied  to  him;  had  given 
him  his  word,  and  now,  with  the  market  hopelessly 
lower,  retracted  it;  had  thrown  him  a  rope,  and, 
as  he  hung  helpless  in  mid  air,  was  leaning  coolly 

103 


forward  to  cut  it,  and  let  him  perish.  And  he  had 
promised  Turner  —  his  word  of  honor.  He  felt 
physically  faint  and  sick.  Farrington  hung  up  the 
receiver,  and  then,  as  Jack  started  to  speak,  an 
interruption  occurred.  Suddenly  the  door  opened, 
and  Cummings  appeared  in  the  entrance.  He 
seemed  greatly  hurried  and  excited,  as  if  he  had 
been  running  hard.  "  All  ready,  Hal,"  he  cried, 
"  he'll  ring  you  any  minute  now.  And  when  he 
does,  buy  like  hell!  For  the  personal,  of  course! 
He  says  — " 

Quickly  Farrington  cut  in  on  him.  "  Shut  up !  " 
he  cried,  so  sharply  that  Jack  could  not  but  note 
his  tone,  "  Can't  you  see  I'm  busy  ?  Wait  outside, 
till  I'm  through,"  and  Cummings,  his  red  face  many 
shades  redder  than  before,  at  once  hastily  withdrew. 

Immediately  Carleton  leaned  forward.  "  Look 
here,"  he  cried  desperately,  "  this  isn't  right. 
You  told  rne  you'd  see  me  through.  Those  were 
your  very  words.  You  can't  go  back  on  them  now. 
If  you  do,  you've  got  me  ruined  —  worse  than 
ruined.  It  isn't  only  the  money;  I've  pledged  my 
word;  pledged  myself  to  make  good.  I've  got  to 

104 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

have  it,  Farrington;  that's  all;  I've  got  to;  can't 
you  understand  ?  " 

Farrington  frowned.  "  You  can't  have  it,"  he 
answered  sharply,  "  and  don't  take  that  tone  to  me, 
either,  Mr.  Carleton.  Haven't  I  given  you  twenty 
thousand  already?  You  must  have  misunderstood 
me  last  night.  I  said  I'd  see  you  through  if  I  could, 
and  now  I  find  I  can't.  That's  all.  I  tell  you  I 
can't;  and  I  won't  stop  to  split  hairs  about  it, 
either.  I've  got  too  much  at  stake.  You'd  better 
not  wait,  Mr.  Carleton.  There's  no  use  in  it. 
There's  nothing  for  you  here." 

Carleton's  eyes  blazed.  Just  for  an  instant 
things  swam  before  him;  for  an  instant  he  half 
crouched,  like  an  animal  about  to  spring.  In  the 
office,  absolute  stillness  reigned,  save  for  the  tall 
clock  in  the  corner  ticking  off  the  seconds  —  five 
—  ten  —  fifteen  —  and  then,  all  at  once,  his  tightly 
closed  hands  unclenched,  his  lips  relaxed;  on  the 
instant  he  stood  erect,  and  without  speaking,  turned 
quickly  on  his  heel,  and  left  the  room. 

Grim  and  white  of  face,  he  burst  five  minutes 
later  into  Turner's  private  office,  with  a  bearing  so 

105 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

•changed  that  Turner  could  not  help  but  notice  it, 
and  read  the  trouble  there.  "  Something  wrong?  " 
he  asked  sharply,  and  Carleton  nodded,  with  a 
strange  feeling  as  if  he  were  acting  a  part  in  some 
sinister  dream.  "  I  couldn't  get  it,"  he  said. 

Turner  gazed  at  him,  frowning.  "  Nonsense," 
he  cried,  and  Carleton  could  have  laughed  hyster- 
ically to  hear  his  own  words  of  ten  minutes  before 
coming  back  to  him :  "  You've  got  to  get  it.  You 
told  me  you  were  all  right,  Jack.  You  can't  do 
this  now.  Last  night  was  the  time  to  settle  or  sell. 
You  can't  turn  around  now.  It's  too  late." 

Carleton's  face  was  haggard,  his  mouth  dry.  He 
shook  his  head  stubbornly.  "  I  can't  get  it,"  he 
said  again. 

The  broker's  eyes  grew  suddenly  hard.  "  Of 
course  you  can,"  he  cried,  "  you  said  you  could ; 
you  know  you  can  get  it,  Jack ;  go  ahead !  " 

But  Carleton  only  shook  his  head  once  more. 
"  It's  no  use,"  he  answered  wearily,  "  I  can't  get  it, 
I  say.  I  wouldn't  lie  to  you." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  phrase.  The  broker 
sneered.  "  Oh,  no,"  he  cried,  "  of  course  not. 

106 


A  QUESTION  OF  HONOR 

You  wouldn't  lie  to  me.  How  about  this  morn- 
ing?" And  then,  struck  suddenly  by  the  expres- 
sion on  Carleton's  face,  and  perhaps  a  little  ashamed 
of  his  own  loss  of  self-control,  he  hastened  to  add, 
in  a  tone  kindlier  by  far,  "  Come,  come,  Jack,  this 
isn't  like  you.  There's  something  queer  here. 
You  told  me  you  had  friends  who'd  see  you  through. 
You  told  me  that  not  three  hours  ago.  And  if  you 
lied  to  me,  it  was  a  dirty  thing  to  do,  and  a  foolish 
thing,  as  well.  Because  now  I've  got  to  sell  you 
out ;  there's  no  other  way ;  and  it  leaves  you  ruined, 
and  costs  me  money,  besides.  But  I  won't  preach. 
Thank  God,  that's  one  thing  I've  never  done  yet. 
You've  been  a  good  customer  here,  and  a  good 
friend  of  mine,  too.  So  give  it  to  me  straight, 
Jack.  If  you  lied  to  me,  tell  me  so.  It's  bad 
enough  for  you;  I  won't  make  it  any  worse.  I'll 
keep  my  head  shut,  and  you  can  pay  me  back  as 
you're  able.  But  now  look  here  — "  and  his  tone 
hardened  again — "if  it  isn't  that;  if  it's  somebody 
else  that's  lied  to  you,  and  fooled  us  both,  why  that's 
a  different  story  altogether.  There's  nothing  to 
stop  us  then,  and  by  God,  we  won't  let  it  stop  us, 

107 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

either.  .We'll  tell  the  story  all  over  this  town,  till 
we  make  somebody  good  and  sorry  for  what  he's 
done.  Give  it  to  me  straight,  Jack.  How  did  it 
happen?  Is  this  whole  business  up  to  somebody 
else,  or  is  it  up-to  you?  Was  it  the  truth  you  told 
me,  or  was  it  a  lie  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Carleton  stood  silent.  Through 
his  tired  brain  flashed  evil  thoughts  —  suspicion  — 
conjecture  —  the  possibility  of  a  just  revenge. 
And  yet  —  it  was  all  so  confused  —  so  uncertain. 
Blame  there  was  somewhere  —  but  where?  What 
could  he  really  do?  And  then,  curiously  enough, 
once  more  he  seemed  to  see  before  his  eyes  the  dark 
face  of  Henry  Carleton;  once  again  he  seemed  to 
hear  him  say,  "  The  Carletons  must  stand  together, 
Jack.  We  mustn't  bring  dishonor  on  the  name." 
And  in  that  sudden  instant  Jack  Carleton  ceased  all 
at  once  to  be  a  boy,  and  became  a  man.  Low  and 
hesitating  came  the  words,  the  words  that  in  the 
broker's  eyes  branded  him  for  ever  as  a  coward, 
beaten  and  disgraced,  and  yet  his  gaze,  fixed  on 
Turner's  face,  never  faltered.  "Jim,"  he  said, 
"  I'm  sorry.  It's  up  to  me.  I  told  you  a  lie." 

108 


CHAPTER  VI 
'DEATH  COPIES 

"Nothing  is  here  for  tears,  nothing  to  wail 
Or  knock  the  breast,  no  weakness,  no  contempt, 
Dispraise,  or  blame, —  nothing  but  well  and  fair, 
And  what  may  quiet  us  in  a  death  so  noble." 

Milton. 

THROUGH  the  gathering  darkness  of  the 
short,  chilly  December  day  the  carriage  swung 
up  the  driveway  of  The  Birches,  and  in  front  of 
the  porch  came  to  a  sudden  halt.  Doctor  Morrison, 
hastily  alighting,  ran  quickly  up  the  piazza  steps 
to  find  Henry  Carleton,  worried  and  anxious,  al- 
ready awaiting  him  at  the  open  door. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,  Doctor,"  he  said,  his  re- 
lief plainly  enough  showing  in  his  tone,  "  I've  been 
reproaching  myself  for  not  letting  you  know  before. 
Step  into  the  parlor  for  a  moment,  though,  and 
warm  yourself  before  you  go  up.  You  must  be 
cold." 

109 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Pulling  off  his  gloves,  and  laying  aside  his  over- 
coat and  bag,  Doctor  Morrison  followed  Carleton 
into  the  room,  rubbing  his  hands  and  holding  them 
out  to  the  warmth  of  the  open  blaze.  Then  he 
turned.  "  And  how  is  he  now?  "  he  asked.  "  Any 
change  for  the  worse  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  Carleton  answered,  "  he  ap- 
pears to  be  comfortable  enough,  and  says  he  has  no 
pain.  Yet  there  seems  something  curious  about  it, 
too.  It  was  almost  a  week  ago,  I  suppose,  that  he 
first  began  to  complain.  There  was  nothing  that 
you  could  fix  on  definitely,  though.  Only  that  he 
didn't  seem  to  be  quite  himself  —  not  as  bright  as 
usual,  or  so  interested  in  things  —  and  wanted  to 
sleep  a  great  deal,  even  in  the  daytime;  something, 
as  you  know,  most  unusual  for  him.  I  thought 
then  of  sending  for  you,  and  then  I  felt  that  that 
might  alarm  him,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  I  expected 
every  day  to  see  him  begin  to  pick  up  again;  he's 
had  times  like  this  before.  And  so  things  went 
along  until  to-day.  But  this  morning,  as  I  tele- 
phoned you,  he  didn't  get  up  at  all  —  complained 
of  feeling  very  weak  and  faint  —  so  of  course  I 

no 


DEATH  COMES 

rang  you  up  at  once.  I  only  hope  Fve  made  no 
mistake  in  waiting  so  long." 

Doctor  Morrison  shook  his  head.  "  Oh,  no,  I 
don't  think  so  for  a  moment,"  he  answered,  "  I 
doubt  if  it's  anything  serious  at  all.  All  men,  as 
they  get  on  in  years,  are  apt  to  get  queer  notions 
at  times,  especially  about  their  health.  I'll  go  right 
up  and  see  him  now,  but  I  don't  anticipate  that  we'll 
find  there's  the  slightest  cause  for  alarm." 

For  half  an  hour  Henry  Carleton  sat  alone  in  the 
firelight,  in  spite  of  all  the  doctor  had  said  still  anx- 
ious and  disturbed.  Then  he  rose  quickly  as  he 
heard  footsteps  descending  the  stairs,  and  stood 
waiting,  expectant  and  apprehensive.  As  the  doc- 
tor entered  the  room,  it  was  easy  to  see  from 
the  expression  on  his  face  that  his  news  was 
certainly  none  of  the  best.  Abruptly  Henry  Carle- 
ton  stepped  forward.  "  Is  it  serious  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  doctor  did  not  keep  him  in  suspense.  He 
nodded  gravely.  "  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  suppose 
I  should  tell  you  so  at  once.  It  is,"  and  then,  see- 
ing the  unspoken  question  in  the  other's  eyes,  he 
added  quickly,  "  No,  I  don't  mean  anything  im- 

iii 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

mediate,  necessarily;  but  he's  failed  terribly  since  I 
saw  him  last  I  suppose  it's  been  all  of  six  months 
now,  at  least,  since  I  came  out  before;  and  probably 
to  you,  living  with  him  and  seeing  him  every  day, 
the  change  has  been  so  gradual  that  you  haven't 
noticed  it,  but  it's  been  going  on  steadily  just  the 
same,  all  the  time.  He's  certainly  failed  —  alarm- 
ingly." 

Slowly  Henry  Carleton  nodded.  "  I  see,"  he 
said  half -mechanically,  then  added,  "  Is  it  anything 
particular,  Doctor,  or  just  a  general  breaking  up?  " 

"Just  that,"  the  doctor  answered.  "Just  old 
age.  It's  the  same  story  with  all  of  us,  after  all. 
The  machine  is  built  to  run  about  so  long.  Some- 
times it  wears  out  gradually;  sometimes,  as  in  Mr. 
Carleton's  case,  even  at  the  allotted  age,  it  seems  al- 
most as  good  as  new ;  and  those  are  the  cases,  where, 
when  anything  does  go  wrong,  it's  apt  to  go  wrong 
very  suddenly  indeed,  so  that  to  every  one  the  shock 
is  proportionately  greater,  and  just  so  much  harder 
to  bear." 

Again  Henry  Carleton  nodded.  "  Nothing  that 
one  can  do,  I  suppose  ? "  he  asked,  and  the  doctor 

112 


DEATH  COMES 

shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  answered,  "  practically 
nothing;  it's  really  his  own  fight.  I'll  leave  some 
directions  about  medicine  and  diet,  of  course,  and 
I  rather  think,  on  the  whole,  though  it's  probably  a 
needless  precaution,  that  I'll  stay  here  with  you  for 
the  night.  You  might  fix  me  up  a  sofa  in  his 
room,  if  you  don't  mind;  I  think  perhaps  I  should 
feel  better  satisfied  to  stay  until  morning,  anyway. 
His  heart  isn't  quite  what  I'd  like  it  to  be." 

By  nine  o'clock  Edward  Carleton  seemed  to  be  in 
better  spirits,  and  to  be  resting  more  comfortably, 
and  neither  Henry  Carleton,  nor,  for  that  matter, 
Doctor  Morrison  himself,  retired  with  any  thought 
of  an  immediate  turn  for  the  worse.  Henry  Carle- 
ton,  indeed,  resigned  himself  to  sleep  with  all  the 
comfort  that  comes  from  a  conscience  serenely  at 
peace  with  every  one,  and  a  knowledge  that  one's 
worldly  affairs  —  deprecated  but  not  despised  — 
are  going  magnificently  to  one's  advantage. 
Calmly  enough  he  balanced  his  spiritual  accounts 
with  his  Creator  and  his  fellow-men,  and  found  that 
with  both  his  credit  was  good.  Placidly  he  passed 
in  review  on  matters  more  material,  and  there 

"3 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

found,  if  such  a  thing  could  be,  his  credit  better 
still;  and  then,  as  a  good  man  should,  dropped  off 
to  sleep  with  no  disturbing  or  vexing  thoughts  to 
mar  his  rest. 

Yet  after  all,  the  night  was  not  destined  to  be  a 
peaceful  one,  for  somewhere  in  the  long,  silent 
spaces  that  lie  between  midnight  and  the  dawn,  the 
bell  connecting  Edward  Carleton's  room  with  his 
rang  once,  twice,  thrice ;  insistent  and  shrill,  piercing 
his  dreams  with  a  sudden  foreboding  of  evil.  In  a 
moment  he  was  up  and  across  the  hall,  to  find,  in 
the  dim  light,  the  doctor,  half-dressed,  supporting 
the  old  man's  figure,  swaying  as  he  strove  to  prop 
him  against  the  pillows.  Sharply  the  doctor  spoke. 
"  On  the  mantel,"  he  cried,  "  my  case.  Quick, 
please.  No,  come  here.  I'll  get  it  myself.  Keep 
his  head  up  —  there  —  that  way  —  so.  Just  a 
minute,  now ;  just  a  minute  — " 

It  was  but  the  fraction  of  a  minute,  at  the  most, 
until  he  returned,  but  in  the  interval  the  old  man's 
eyes  had  opened  and  had  gazed  at  IJenry  Carleton 
with  an  expression  of  recognition.  Instantly,  too, 
he  strove  to  speak,  but  in  vain,  and  then,  just  as  the 

114 


DEATH  COMES 

doctor  reached  his  side,  his  eyes  closed,  and  his  head 
dropped  back  among  the  pillows.  Edward  Carle- 
ton  was  dead. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning  when  Doc- 
tor Morrison,  tired  and  pale  with  the  strain  of  his 
long,  sleepless  night,  entered  his  office,  to  meet 
Helmar  just  coming  down  the  stairs.  "  Old  Mr, 
Carleton's  gone,  Franz,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  heart 
failure.  He  died  early  this  morning." 

Helmar  glanced  up  quickly.  "  I'm  very  sorry  in- 
deed," he  said,  "  but  it's  not  a  surprise.  I  remem- 
ber when  I  saw  him  I  didn't  give  him  over  six 
months,,  or  a  year,  at  the  most.  His  heart  action 
was  none  too  good  even  then,  and  there  were  other 
things." 

Doctor  Morrison  nodded,  then  looked  at  him  with 
a  rather  curious  expression.  "  Franz,"  he  said, 
"  you  know  your  friend  Jack  Carleton  ?  " 

Helmar's  eyes  met  his  frankly.  "  I  was  just 
thinking  of  him,"  he  said,  "  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  a 
terrible  shock.  I  think  he  scarcely  realized  that  his 
father  was  failing  at  all.  Poor  old  Mr.  Carleton  t 

"5 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

And  what  a  difference  it  all  makes.  To  think  that 
Jack  will  come  into  his  fortune  now." 

Again  Doctor  Morrison  eyed  him  curiously. 
"  Come  into  his  fortune,"  he  repeated,  and  again 
Helmar  looked  up  quickly,  struck  by  his  tone. 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  answered,  "  why  not  ?  I  always 
understood  that  Jack  would  have  the  estate  on  his 
father's  death.  There's  been  no  change,  has  there  ? 
Jack  hasn't  been  cut  off  in  any  way  ?  " 

Doctor  Morrison  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he 
answered,  "  nothing  like  that,  exactly ;  but  suppose 
I  have  nothing,  and  give  you  all  I  have ;  that  doesn't 
do  you  such  a  tremendous  lot  of  good." 

Helmar's  expression  sufficiently  showed  his  as- 
tonishment. "  You  don't  mean  it ! "  he  cried. 
"  Why,  that  can't  be  so !  I  always  understood  from 
every  one  that  Edward  Carleton  was  a  very  rich  man. 
Why,  just  look  at  his  place,  for  one  thing;  it  can't 
be  so." 

Doctor  Morrison  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  It's 
the  same  old  story,"  he  said,  "  you  know  yourself 
how  often  it  happens,  and  how  surprised  people 
are  on  a  man's  death  to  find  how  comparatively 

116 


DEATH  COMES 

little  he  has.  Sometimes,  of  course,  you'll  find  it 
just  reversed,  and  the  man  that's  rated  at  fifty 
thousand  dies  worth  half  a  million.  But  that's  the 
exception,  these  days,  and  the  other's  the  rule.  For 
one  man  that  scrapes  and  saves,  there  are  a  dozen 
who  live  on  a  big  scale,  spend  their  income  to  the 
last  cent,  and  maybe  draw  on  the  principal,  too. 
And  Edward  Carleton  spent  money  very  freely,  I 
suppose." 

Helmar  looked  entirely  unconvinced.  "  Well, 
suppose  he  did,"  he  answered,  "  admit  that  he  did, 
even;  for  he  did  give  a  lot  to  charity  and  things 
like  that;  I  know  that  for  a  fact.  But  even  then 
—  think  of  the  different  enterprises  he  was  in  in 
his  day,  and  practically  all  big,  successful  ones. 
Oh,  it  can't  be  that  he  left  nothing;  it's  an  im- 
possibility." 

Doctor  Morrison  shook  his  head.  "  No,  sir,  it's 
true,"  he  replied,  "I'm  not  speculating  about  it;. 
I  know  it  positively,  because  I  got  it  from  Henry 
Carleton's  own  lips.  He  surely  ought  to  know,  if 
any  one  does,  and  he'd  hardly  care  to  publish  the 
fact  if  it  wasn't  really  so.  He's  a  most  remarkable 

117 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

man,  Helmar.  I've  always  admired  him,  but  I 
don't  think  I  ever  really  quite  appreciated  him 
before.  Sometimes  I  seemed  to  find  him  a  little 
self-centered,  a  little  too  sure  of  himself,  if  you 
know  what  I  mean.  But  I  know  better  now,  for 
what  he's  done  in  his  brother's  case  is  really  as 
fine  a  thing  as  you  ever  heard.  It  seems  that  the 
old  gentleman  had  always  managed  his  own  affairs, 
but  about  a  year  ago  he  came  to  Henry  and  asked 
him  to  take  charge  of  everything  for  him.  I 
suppose  he  felt  that  he  was  getting  a  little  out  of 
touch  with  things,  perhaps;  anyway,  whether  he 
suspected  it  or  not,  the  sequel  proved  that  he'd 
managed  to  put  matters  off  a  little  too  long.  He 
had  some  very  unfortunate  investments,  and  he'd 
looked  out  for  lots  of  other  people  ahead  of  him- 
self, and  the  long  and  short  of  it  was  that  when 
the  panic  blew  along,  it  simply  wiped  Edward  Carle- 
ton  off  the  map." 

Helmar  nodded  grudgingly.  "  Well,  on  those 
facts,  I  can  understand  it,  then,"  he  replied.  "  But 
I  always  thought  he  was  too  conservative  a  man  to 

118 


DEATH  COMES 

get  caught  in  anything  like  that.     He  had  plenty  of 
company,  though." 

"  No  doubt  of  that,"  Doctor  Morrison  assented, 
"  and  then  what  do  you  suppose  Henry  Carleton 
did?  Straightened  out  what  was  left  of  the  wreck 
as  well  as  he  could,  told  the  old  gentleman  that 
everything  wras  all  right,  and  has  kept  the  estate 
going  ever  since,  letting  him  have  whatever  he 
wanted,  right  out  of  his  own  pocket,  and  without 
a  word  to  any  one  that  things  were  any  different 
from  what  they  always  had  been.  He's  even  kept 
on  paying  Jack  the  allowance  his  father  gave  him, 
and  that,  too,  after  he  and  Jack  had  had  another 
row,  more  serious  than  any  that  had  gone  before. 
And  he'd  have  kept  on  like  that,  he  told  me,  if  the 
old  gentleman  had  lived  ten  years  instead  of  one. 
If  that  isn't  doing  one's  duty,  in  the  best  sense  of 
the  word,  I'd  like  to  have  you  tell  me  what  is." 

For  a  moment,  Helmar  did  not  reply.  To  all  that 
Doctor  Morrison  had  said  he  had  listened  with  the 
closest  attention.  "  He  told  you  all  this  himself, 
you  say?  "  he  queried  at  length. 

119 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

At  once  the  doctor  felt  the  unspoken  criticism  in 
his  tone.  "And  why  not?"  he  retorted.  "This 
has  been  a  time  of  great  strain  for  him,  and  \ve 
were  together  there  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  At 
a  time  like  that  a  man's  tongue  is  loosened  perhaps 
a  little  more  than  usual." 

Helmar  made  no  answer,  either  of  denial  or 
assent.  Then,  after  a  little  while,  "  Does  Jack 
know  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  yet,"  the  doctor  answered.  "  There 
seemed  nothing  to  be  gained  by  telephoning.  I  told 
Henry  Carleton  I'd  go  up  at  once  myself." 

Helmar  reached  for  his  hat.  "If  you  don't 
mind,"  he  said,  "  let  me  go  instead,"  and  Doctor 
Morrison,  spent  and  weary,  readily  enough  nodded 
assent. 

Carleton,  as  Helmar  entered  the  door  of  his 
room  at  the  Mayflower,  turned  with  some  surprise 
to  greet  his  friend.  "  Why,  hello,  Franz,"  he 
cried.  "  What  the  devil  brings  you  here?  "  Then 
noticing  the  look  on  Helmar's  face,  he  added 
quickly,  and  in  a  very  different  tone,  "  What  is  it  ? 
Anything  wrong?" 

1 20 


Helmar  nodded.  Between  man  and  man,  he  was- 
no  believer  in  striving  to  break  bad  news  gently. 
"  It's  your  father,  Jack,"  he  said.  "  He  died  this 
morning.  It  was  very  sudden.  Doctor  Morrison 
was  there.  It  was  his  heart.  There  was  nothing 
that  could  be  done.  And  he  didn't  suffer,  Jack; 
and  that  means  a  great  deal." 

He  stopped,  making  no  empty  protestations  of 
sympathy.  Carleton,  turning  on  his  heel,  stepped 
quickly  to  the  window,  and  stood,  with  his  back  to 
Helmar,  gazing  blankly  out  into  the  street.  Pres- 
ently he  turned  again;  his  eyes  were  moist;  and 
his  voice,  when  he  spoke,  was  pitched  low.  "  The 
poor  old  Governor,"  he  said.  "  He  was  awfully 
good  to  me.  I  never  thought  —  I  wish  now  —  I 
wish  somehow  I'd  been  different  with  him." 

With  the  vast  freemasonry  of  experience  Hel- 
mar divined  his  thoughts.  "  I  know,  Jack,"  he 
said,  "  I  know  how  I  felt  when  my  father  died. 
I've  known  since,  a  hundred  times,  what  sons  and 
daughters  might  be  to  their  parents,  but  somehow 
we're  not.  It's  just  the  fact  of  being  young,  I 
suppose.  We  don't  understand ;  we  don't  appre- 

121 


ciate —  until  it's  too  late;  and  then  we  never  can 
repay;  only  remember,  I  suppose,  when  we  have 
children  of  our  own,  that  we've  got  to  make  allow- 
ances, too — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  and  for  a  moment  there 
was  silence.  Then,  with  evident  constraint,  he 
spoke  again.  "  Doctor  Morrison  was  coming  up 
here  himself,  Jack,"  he  said,  "  but  I  asked  him  to 
let  me  come  instead.  There  was  something  I 
wanted  to  tell  you  especially  —  about  the  estate. 
Henry  has  told  Doctor  Morrison  that  in  the  panic 
your  father  lost  about  everything  he  had,  so  that 
practically  there's  nothing  left.  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  first  — " 

Carleton  nodded,  but  the  expression  on  his  face 
showed  no  new  emotion.  "  Thank  you,  Franz," 
he  said,  "  I  understand,  and  I  appreciate ;  you've 
always  been  a  good  friend  to  me.  But  I  don't  care 
about  the  money;  it  isn't  that;  I  only  wish — " 

In  spite  of  himself  his  voice  faltered  and  broke, 
and  he  again  turned  hastily  away,  while  Helmar 
waited  in  silence,  scarce  knowing  what  to  do  or 
say.  At  length  Carleton  turned  to  him  once  more, 

122 


DEATH  COMES 

speaking  as  one  speaks  only  to  a  tried  friend,  his 
voice  steady  enough  now,  yet  hardly  sounding  like 
his  own.  "  Memory's  a  queer  thing,  Franz,"  he 
said.  "Of  all  that  I  remember  about  my  father, 
what  do  you  suppose  comes  back  to  me  now  ? 
Something  that  happened  almost  twenty  years 
ago,  when  we  used  to  spend  our  summers 
down  at  the  shore.  A  little  trivial  thing,  too, 
I  suppose  any  one  would  say.  I  was  just  a 
youngster  then  —  nine  or  ten,  maybe  —  and  we  had 
two  little  sail-boats  that  were  the  apple  of  my  eye. 
Poor  enough  craft  I  guess  they  were,  looking  back 
at  them  now,  but  no  two  cup  defenders  to-day 
could  look  to  me  as  those  two  boats  did  then. 

"  I  wasn't  considered  big  enough  to  go  out  in 
them  alone,  but  one  Saturday  afternoon  my  father 
promised  me  that  if  Henry,  when  he  came  down 
from  town,  would  take  one  boat,  I  could  take  the 
other,  and  we  could  have  a  race.  As  long  as  I 
live,  I'll  never  forget  that  morning.  A  thousand 
times  I  looked  out  to  where  the  two  boats  lay 
moored;  crazy  with  excitement;  planning  every- 
thing; the  start,  the  course;  looking  at  the  wind; 

123 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

right  on  edge  —  and  somehow  it  never  even  oc- 
curred to  me  that  Henry  wouldn't  want  to  go.  I 
suppose  I  honestly  couldn't  imagine  that  any  man, 
woman  or  child  could  possibly  refuse  a  chance  to 
sail  a  boat  race. 

"  Well,  Henry  arrived,  and  you  can  imagine  what 
Henry  did.  He  hated  me  even  then;  I  believe  he'd 
always  hated  me,  though  of  course  I  didn't  realize 
it.  Poor  little  rascal  that  I  was,  I'd  never  learned 
to  think  about  hating  any  one.  He  heard  me  out  — 
I  can  even  remember  how  I  grabbed  hold  of  him 
as  he  was  getting  out  of  the  station  wagon,  and 
how  he  shook  me  off,  too  —  and  then  he  looked  at 
me  with  a  queer,  kind  of  a  smile  that  wasn't  really 
a  smile  —  I  can  imagine  now  just  what  fun  it  must 
have  been  for  him  —  and  said  he  was  afraid  there 
wasn't  wind  enough  to  go  sailing.  That  was  just 
to  tantalize  me  —  to  see  me  argue  and  run  out  on 
the  piazza  and  point  to  the  ripples  and  the  big 
American  flag  on  the  Island  waving  in  the  breeze  — 
and  then  he  had  to  turn  away,  and  pretend  to 
yawn,  and  say  he  didn't  believe  he  cared  to  go,  that 
anyway  he  was  going  over  to  the  Country  Club  to 

124 


DEATH  COMES 

play  tennis.  And  then  he  went  into  the  house  to 
get  ready,  and  left  me  out  there  on  the  piazza. 
alone. 

"  I  can  laugh  now,  and  shrug  my  shoulders  at  the 
whole  thing,  but  then  —  why,  it  was  black  tragedy 
for  me.  I  guess  I  was  a  pretty  solemn-looking 
little  chap,  swallowing  hard  and  trying  not  to  cry, 
when  my  father  found  me  there  half  an  hour  later. 
He'd  been  fishing  all  the  morning,  I  remember,  and 
I  guess  he  was  good  and  tired  —  he  hadn't  been 
well  that  summer,  anyway  —  and  he  had  a  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  and  had  his  hand  on  the  long  piazza, 
chair,  just  going  to  pull  it  into  the  shade,  and 
settle  down  with  a  book  and  a  paper  for  a  nice, 
quiet  afternoon.  I  told  him,  I  remember,  and  he 
looked  at  his  chair,  and  looked  out  on  the  water  — 
the  sun  was  strong,  and  pretty  hot,  and  to  tell  the 
truth,  though  there  was  a  little  light  air  close  to> 
shore,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  out  to  sea  it  was 
getting  rather  flat  —  and  then  he  looked  again  at 
his  chair,  and  then  at  me,  and  then  he  put  down 
his  book  and  his  paper,  and  drew  me  up  to  him  with 
one  hand,  and  gave  a  smile  —  that  was  a  smile 

125 


THE  CARLETOX  CASE 

"  *  Come  on,  my  old  sailor,'  he  said  '  and  we'll 
see  if  we  can't  have  a  little  boat  race  of  our  own.' 
Oh,  how  my  heart  jumped  —  the  poor  old  Gov- 
ernor, I  think  my  expression  must  pretty  nearly 
have  paid  him  —  and  then  we  toiled  down  over 
the  rocks,  with  me  hanging  to  his  hand,  the  way 
a  kid  that  really  likes  his  father  will;  and  out  we 
went  in  the  skiff,  with  me  doing  the  rowing,  splash- 
ing and  jerking,  and  very  proud,  and  then  we  got 
up  sail,  and  drifted  around  the  little  course  for  a 
couple  of  hours  —  I  can  remember  how  hot  it  was 
—  and  of  course  I  won.  I  didn't  dream  then  that 
he  let  me,  and  perhaps,  for  him  to  hear  me  telling 
my  mother  about  it  over  and  over  again  at  the 
supper  table  —  perhaps  — " 

He  stopped,  unable  to  go  on,  and  then,  after  a 
little  pause,  he  added  half-wistfully,  in  a  voice  that 
shook  in  spite  of  him,  "It's  queer,  Helmar  —  isn't 
it? — how  a  little  thing  like  that  can  stand  out  in 
your  memory,  and  so  many  other  things  you  utterly 
forget.  It's  just  the  —  what  is  the  word  —  just 
the  kindness  of  it  —  damn  it  all — "  and  self-re- 
straint at  last  giving  way,  he  buried  his  face  in  his 

126 


DEATH  COMES 

hands,  and  for  the  first  time  in  many  a  long  year, 
cried  like  a  child. 

Helmar  for  a  moment  stood  still  in  troubled 
silence;  then  turned  upon  his  heel,  and  softly  left 
the  room. 


127 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   PARTING 

"  For  of  fortunes  sharpe  adversite, 
The  worst  kind  of  infortune  is  this, — 
A  man  that  hath  been  in  prosperite, 
And  it  remember  when  it  passed  is." 

Chaucer. 

MARJORY  GRAHAM  rose  from  her  seat  as 
Carleton  entered  the  room,  her  hand  out- 
stretched   in    friendly    greeting.     "  I'm    glad    you 
came  out,  Jack,"  she  said,  "  it's  seemed  like  a  long 
time." 

Carleton,  as  he  seated  himself,  unconsciously  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  girl's  face,  thinking  to  him- 
self that  he  had  never  seen  her  looking  prettier,  or 
more  charming.  He  gave  a  nod  of  assent.  "  It 
has  been  a  long  time,"  he  answered,  "  but  you  know 
how  much  has  happened.  I  should  have  come  be- 
fore, but  I  thought  I'd  wait  until  things  were 
settled  first." 

128 


A  PARTING 

The  girl  looked  at  him,  with  sympathy  in  her 
glance.  "  I  was  so  sorry,  Jack,"  she  said,  "  about 
your  father." 

He  nodded  again.  "  I  know  you  were,  Mar- 
jory," he  answered,  "  you  were  always  kind  to  him, 
and  he  valued  your  friendship,  I  know.  He  used  to 
speak  to  me  about  you,  many  a  time.  And  I  never 
dreamed  —  he  seemed  so  well  —  it's  so  hard  for 
me  to  realize,  even  now,  that  we'll  never  see  him 
again." 

There  followed  a  moment's  silence.  And  then 
the  girl  spoke  once  more.  "  And  I'm  sorry,  Jack, 
about  all  the  rest,  too." 

His  answering  glance  was  grateful  enough,  yet 
somehow  he  appeared  to  wince  a  little  at  her  words. 
"  You  needn't  be,  Marjory,"  he  said,  "  because  I 
don't  deserve  it.  I've  made  a  fool  of  myself. 
Your  father  told  you  everything,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  Jack,  he  told  me,"  she  answered,  "  I  don't 
think  he  liked  doing  it  —  he  hates  talking  about 
other  people's  business  —  but  he  sai'd  you  asked 
him  to." 

"  Yes,  I  wanted  him  to,"  Carleton  assented.  "  I 
129 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

wanted  you  to  know  all  about  it,  before  I  came  out. 
I  thought  I'd  make  a  clean  breast  of  things.  I've 
paid  my  debts,  thank  Heaven,  but  I'm  left  prac- 
tically without  a  cent;  I'm  no  better  than  a  beggar. 
And  I'm  living  in  a  lodging-house,  down-town. 
Quite  a  change,  all  right,  from  the  Mayflower." 

Her  face  clouded.  "  I  won't  bother  you  with 
sympathy,  Jack,"  she  said,  "  if  you  don't  want  me 
to;  but  I  am  awfully  sorry,  just  the  same;  I've 
thought  of  you  so  many  times.  And  Jack,"  she 
added,  "  I  wish  you'd  promise  me  to  think  more 
about  yourself  now.  You've  been  through  such  a 
lot,  and  really  you  don't  look  well  at  all.  You're 
thin,  and  tired-looking,  and  different  —  somehow 
—  every  way." 

Carleton  nodded.  What  the  inward  change  had 
been,  he  knew  better  than  any  one  else.  And  out- 
wardly, indeed,  he  did  appear  more  careworn,  more 
thoughtful,  than  he  had  ever  done  before.  In  his 
whole  manner  there  was  a  new  poise,  and  a  new 
gravity  as  well.  "  Oh,  I'm  all  right,  thanks,"  he 
answered,  '*  only  when  you  get  worried,  and  begin 
not  to  sleep,  it  makes  a  difference,  you  know. 

130 


A  PARTING 

Thank  you,  though,  Marjory,  for  being  sorry.  I 
appreciate  it  more  than  I  can  say.  But  I  didn't 
mean  to  bother  you  with  all  my  troubles  like  this. 
I  came  out  to  tell  you  something  different  altogether, 
and  I  find  it's  awfully  hard  to  begin." 

Momentarily  he  paused.  Intent  on  what  he  was 
saying,  he  had  sat  looking  straight  before  him, 
never  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  girl's  face.  Had  he 
done  so,  he  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  note  the 
expression  there,  a  look  as  if  already  she  both 
knew  and  dreaded  what  it  was  that  he  wished  to 
say,  and  had  it  been  possible,  would  gladly  have 
checked  the  words  before  he  could  give  them  utter- 
ance. But  all  absorbed  in  his  desire  to  express  him- 
self as  he  wished,  Carleton  still  sat  gazing  fixedly 
into  the  firelight,  and  after  a  pause,  went  on. 

"  I  wonder  how  I  can  make  you  understand.  Did 
you  ever  have  something,  Marjory,  that  you  wanted 
to  do  very  much;  something  that  you  were  always 
on  the  point  of  doing,  and  yet  somehow  kept  putting 
off  from  day  to  day,  until  at  last  something  else 
happened  that  made  it  impossible  ever  to  do  it  at 
all,  and  left  you  just  saying  over  and  over  to  your- 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

self,  'Why  didn't  I?  Why  didn't  I  when  I 
could?'" 

The  girl  gave  a  nod  of  assent.  "  Yes,  Jack,"  she 
answered,  "  I  understand." 

"  Then  you'll  know  what  I  mean,"  he  continued, 
"  by  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you  now.  It's  only  this, 
and  I  think  you  know  what  it  is  before  I  say  it, 
even.  I  love  you,  Marjory;  I  always  have  loved 
you,  even  when  you  were  only  a  little  girl.  That 
was  the  trouble  all  along,  I  suppose.  I  always 
thought  of  you  as  so  young  that  I  kept  saying  to  my- 
self that  I  oughtn't  to  bother  you,  that  there  would 
be  plenty  of  time  when  you  were  older.  And  then  — 
when  you  were  older  —  I'd  got  started  on  a  foolish 
way  of  living.  I  don't  really  know  how  I  began  — 
just  seemed  to  drift  into  it  somehow.  And  I 
didn't  keep  on  because  I  enjoyed  it  —  for  I  didn't 
—  it  was  just  the  habit  of  it  that  gripped  me  so 
I  couldn't  seem  to  break  away.  And  now  that 
I've  come  to  my  senses  again,  Marjory  —  now  that 
I  can  come  to  you,  feeling  that  I've  a  right  to  tell 
you  that  I  love  you  —  why  now  it's  too  late.  I've 
got  to  begin  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder;  I  can't  ask 

132 


A  PARTING 

you  to  marry  me;  but  I  want  to  know  if  you'll  wait 
—  let  me  show  that  I'm  able  to  make  good  —  give 
me  another  chance.  That's  all  I  ask,  Marjory;  all 
that  I've  a  right  to  ask." 

Slowly  and  unwillingly,  her  gaze  met  his, 
"  Jack,"  she  began,  "  you  know  the  money  would 
make  no  difference;  I'd  never  think  of  that,  of 
course.  It  isn't  that  — 

She  hesitated,  and  stopped.  Carleton's  eyes 
sought  hers  with  the  look  of  a  man  who  feels  the 
whole  world  reel  beneath  him. 

"  Marjory,"  he  cried,  "  do  you  mean  you  don't 
care  —  you  don't  love  me  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  And  then  the 
girl  slowly  shook  her  head.  "  No,  Jack,  I  don't 
mean  that.  Of  course  I  care.  I've  always  cared. 
You  must  have  known.  Any  time,  from  the  day 
you  graduated  from  college,  up  to  a  year  ago,  if 
you'd  come  to  me  and  asked  me  to  marry  you,  I'd 
have  been  the  happiest  girl  you  could  find  any- 
where — " 

For  an  instant  she  paused,  and  Carleton  raised 
his  eyes  to  hers,  as  if  both  knowing  and  dreading 

133 


THE  CARLETOX  CASE 

\vhat    her    next    words    would    be.     "  Well  ? "    he 
asked. 

"  And  then,  Jack,"  she  went  on,  even  more  slowly, 
as  if  the  words  cost  her  greater  and  greater  effort, 
"  you  began  to  change.  And  caring  isn't  enough, 
Jack.  For  a  girl  really  to  love  a  man,  she's  got  to 
respect  him  —  and  trust  him.  And  you  know  how 
you've  lived,  Jack,  for  this  last  year.  First  I  only 
heard  things  —  you  know  how  girls  gossip  among 
themselves  —  and  each  one  has  a  brother,  or  a 
cousin  or  a  sweetheart,  who  tells  her  things;  so 
first  I  heard,  and  then,  little  by  little,  I  could 
see  for  myself.  I  tried  to  think  just  as  much  of 
you  as  ever,  Jack.  I  pretended  to  laugh  at  the 
stories  they  told.  And  then  there  came  one  night 
at  a  dance,  when  you  weren't  yourself  at  all  — 
I  hate  to  remember  it  even  —  and  I  knew  then 
that  things  couldn't  go  on  like  that;  that  we'd 
have  to  come  to  some  kind  of  an  understanding. 
So  I  sent  word  by  Franz  Helmar,  to  ask  you  to 
come  out  to  see  me  that  Friday  night.  I'd  made 
up  my  mind  that  we'd  talk  everything  all  over, 
between  ourselves  —  about  your  drinking,  and 

134 


A  PARTING 

about  that  girl  —  I'd  heard  all  people  were  saying ; 
you  can't  keep  those  things  from  being  known. 
And  then,  after  I'd  waited  and  waited  for  you 
all  that  evening,  and  finally  given  you  up  — 
then  to  come  across  you,  the  way  we  did,  by  ac- 
cident, out  motoring  with  her  —  with  that  common 
girl  —  I  don't  see  how  you  could  do  it,  Jack!  I 
don't  see  how  men  can  do  things  like  that,  and 
respect  themselves;  much  less  expect  other  people 
to  respect  them.  And  you,  Jack,  of  all  people  — 
that  was  a  terrible  night  for  me.  If  I  hadn't 
cared  for  you  —  if  I  didn't  care  for  you,  Jack  — 
I  wouldn't  have  minded;  I  wouldn't  mind  now. 
But  for  me  to  know  that  you'd  been  as  devoted  to 
me  as  you  had  —  that  every  one  talked  about  us  as 
if  we  were  really  engaged  —  and  then  to  know  that 
all  the  time  you'd  been  —  oh,  Jack,  I  had  such 
faith  in  you!  I  thought  you  were  different  from 
other  men.  I  don't  see  how  you  could." 

Carleton  had  sat  listening,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  wincing  under  her  words.  Gradually,  as 
she  spoke,  a  dull  red  flush  had  mounted  to  his 
very  temples,  and  when  she  ended  he  at  once  made 

135 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

answer,  speaking  rapidly,  as  if  the  words  were  fairly 
wrung,  by  force,  from  his  lips.  "  Don't,  Marjory !  " 
Tie  cried.  "  For  God's  sake,  don't !  It's  all  true 
enough.  I've  been  selfish,  thoughtless,  brutal ;  any- 
thing you  please.  I  don't  know  why  I  did  it.  Men 
are  queer  things,  that  way,  I  guess.  Because  I 
loved  you  just  as  much,  Marjory,  all  the  time.  I 
didn't  know  it  then,  but  I  do  now.  And  it  wasn't 
so  bad,  Marjory.  It  was  foolishness,  but  that  was 
all.  The  girl's  none  the  worse  for  me.  Don't 
condemn  me  for  all  our  lives,  because  I've  failed 
once.  Let  me  make  my  fight.  Let  me  show  that 
I  can  be  the  kind  of  a  man  a  girl  can  respect.  And 
then  it  will  be  all  right  again.  You'll  marry  me 
then,  Marjory ;  say  that  you  will." 

Perhaps  the  straightforward  vehemence  of  his 
speech  helped  him  as  nothing  else  could  have  done. 
The  girl  hesitated  a  moment  before  she  answered; 
and  finally,  half -doubt  fully,  shook  her  head.  "  Ah, 
Jack,"  she  said,  "if  you  wrould.  Then  things 
would  be  all  right  again.  But  would  you,  Jack? 
Can  you  change  your  way  of  living,  as  you  think 
you  can?  Suppose  you  did,  for  a  time.  Suppose 

136 


A  PARTING 

we  should  marry,  even.  And  then  —  if  anything 
should  happen.  I'm  different  from  most  women, 
perhaps.  But  my  husband  has  to  be  mine,  the 
whole  of  him.  And  if  you  did  —  things  like  this 
—  again,  it  would  kill  me,  Jack.  I  couldn't  bear 
the  misery,  and  the  shame.  I  want  to  trust  you, 
Jack;  I  want  to,  more  than  anything  in  the  world. 
But  can  I  ?  Would  you  do  as  you  say  ?  " 

Impulsively  he  rose,  and  walked  over  to  the  fire- 
place, leaning  a  hand  on  the  mantel,  and  looking 
down  into  her  face.  "  I  can't  blame  you,  Mar- 
jory," he  cried,  "  if  I  would.  And  I  won't  waste 
time  in  words.  But  let  me  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I've  two  chances  now.  One  here  in  town  —  that 
Henry's  got  for  me  —  it's  steady  and  sure,  and 
pays  fifteen  hundred  a  year.  And  the  other's  to 
go  ranching  it  out  West,  with  a  fellow  I  used  to 
know  in  college.  He  always  wanted  me,  and  he'll 
take  me  now.  There's  a  chance  there,  too;  a 
chance  to  make  money;  a  chance  to  get  rich,  even. 
I've  been  hesitating — I  wanted  to  stay,  to  be  near 
you  —  but  I  won't  delay  any  longer.  I'll  go  out 
there  and  take  my  chance.  It  means  three  years, 

137 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

anyway;  maybe  more.  If  I  can  come  back  then, 
with  some  prospect  ahead  of  me  —  if  I  can  come 
back  then,  and  tell  you,  on  my  word  of  honor,  that 
I've  done  nothing  in  all  that  time  for  which  you 
need  to  feel  ashamed  —  then  things  would  be  right 
again,  wouldn't  they?  You'd  marry  me,  Marjory, 
then." 

Her  face  had  clouded  as  he  spoke.  "  Ah,  Jack," 
she  said,  "  it  seems  so  hard  to  have  you  go  away  like 
that.  I  don't  want  you  to;  I'd  rather  have  you 
here.  And  yet  —  I  suppose  it's  best  for  both  of 
us.  I  know  you're  right,  Jack;  that  you  ought  to 
go,  and  make  your  fight.  And  I'll  trust  to  what 
you  tell  me;  and  I'll  wait  —  I'll  wait  three  years, 
or  twice  three  years." 

His  face  had  brightened  with  her  words.  He 
bent  over  her,  and  took  her  hand  in  his.  "  God 
bless  you,  Marjory,"  he  said.  "  I'll  go,  and  I'll 
fight  as  no  man  ever  fought  before." 

For  an  instant  longer  he  stood  gazing  down  into  t 
her  eyes;  then  turned  abruptly.     A  moment  later 
the  portieres  had  rustled  behind  him,  and  then  were 
still. 

138 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TEMPTATION 

"  Why  comes  temptation,  but  for  man  to  meet 
And  master  and  make  crouch  beneath  his  foot, 
And  so  be  pedestaled  in  triumph?" 

Browning. 

SLOWLY  and  thoughtfully  Carleton  ascended 
the  stairs;  reached  his  room;  entered  it;  had 
even  begun,  with  the  mechanical  force  of  habit,  to 
fumble  in  his  pockets  for  a  match  —  and  then, 
all  at  once,  with  a  sudden  shock  of  surprise,  he 
awoke  from  his  abstraction.  The  lamp  on  the 
center  table  was  already  lighted,  though  turned 
low,  and  from  the  shadow  beyond,  a  dark  figure 
rose,  and  came  forward  to  meet  him. 

In  an  instant,  he  had  reached  out  his  hand;  the 
next  moment,  the  lamp  light  flooded  the  room;  and 
then,  as  he  recognized  his  visitor,  there  swept  over 
his  face  a  medley  of  emotions  —  amazement,  dis- 

139 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

pleasure,  perhaps  some  other  feeling  as  well.  For 
an  instant  he  stood  motionless;  then,  frowning, 
again  stepped  forward,  pitching  his  voice  little 
louder  than  a  whisper.  "  What  the  devil  does  this 
mean,  Jeanne  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  girl's  lips  were  smiling;  her  eyes  dancing 
with  suppressed  amusement.  Plainly  enough,  she 
vyas  in  nowise  disconcerted  at  her  greeting,  but 
instead  met  his  glance  with  the  expression  of  one 
who  feels  herself  mistress  of  the  situation.  She 
too  stepped  forward,  until  only  the  width  of  the 
table  separated  them;  then  spoke,  in  the  same  low 
key,  half,  it  seemed,  in  real  precaution,  half  in 
mocking  mimicry  of  his  own  anxious  tone. 
"  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me,  Jack  ? "  she  whis- 
pered. "  I  thought  you'd  be  so  pleased." 

Carleton's  expression  did  not  change,  except  that 
his  frown  deepened,  and  his  mouth  grew  stern. 
"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  he  said  again,  and 
in  the  same  tone  as  before.  "Coming  here!  At 
this  time  of  night!  Are  you  crazy,  Jeanne?  " 

Smiling  still,  the  girl  came  closer,  laying  her 
hand  appealingly  on  his  arm,  and  looking  up  into 

140 


TEMPTATION 

his  face  with  the  innocent  gaze  of  a  child  unjustly 
wronged.     "  Now,  Jack  — "  she  began. 

Carleton,  with  a  quick  intake  of  his  breath, 
stepped  back,  shaking  off  the  slender  hand.  "  Drop 
it,  Jeanne,"  he  said  sharply.  "  Here  — "  he  thrust 
the  arm-chair  toward  her,  "  sit  down,  and  tell  'me 
what  all  this  means,  and  then,  for  God's  sake,  go 


away 


With  an  amused  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  the  girl 
complied,  seating  herself  leisurely  and  comfortably, 
as  if  she  were  far  from  being  in  a  hurry  to  de- 
part, and  glanced  up  at  him  with  a  look  charming 
and  demure  enough  to  have  driven  away  the  frown 
which  still  lingered  on  his  brow.  And  then,  as 
she  made  no  move  to  speak,  he  broke  the  silence. 
"  How  on  earth,"  he  asked,  "  did  you  get  here?  " 
She  smiled  back  at  him,  her  eyes  dancing  with 
mischief.  "  Bribery,"  she  answered.  "  The  maid 
at  the  door  said  it  was  as  much  as  her  place  was 
worth.  I  told  her  it  was  a  matter  of  great  im- 
portance—  I  really  did  it  rather  well,  I  think  — 
and  then  I  told  her  that  no  one  would  ever  know 
and  —  persuaded  her.  And  here  I  am." 

141 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

"  So  I  perceive,"  he  observed  dryly,  and  then, 
more  gravely,  "  And  now  what  is  it,  Jeanne  ?  Be 
quick,  please.  It  must  be  close  to  midnight.  If 
any  one  found  you  here  — " 

The  girl  laughed,  low  and  mockingly.  "  Why, 
Jack,"  she  said,  "  how  awfully  moral  we've  grown. 
You  never  used  to  be  so  particular  about  appear- 
ances. Don't  you  remember — " 

He  held  up  a  silencing  hand.  "  I  remember  a 
great  many  things,  Jeanne.  We  had  our  good 
times,  and  we  enjoyed  them,  too.  But  they're  all 
gone  by  for  me,  my  dear.  If  you  dance,  you've  got 
to  pay  the  piper.  That's  the  truest  thing  that  ever 
was  said.  And  I'm  paying  him  now.  You  heard 
all  about  the  smash,  of  course.  And  you  know  that 
I'm  a  poor  man.  My  sporting  days  are  over,  for 
good  and  all." 

The  girl  nodded.  For  the  first  time,  the  smile 
had  left  her  face,  and  her  tone,  when  she  spoke, 
was  as  grave  as  his  own.  "  I  know  all  about  it, 
Jack,"  she  said,  "  it  isn't  the  money  I  care  about. 
I  thought  it  was  —  once  —  but  it  wasn't;  it  was 
you.  And  you  haven't  sent  me  word  now  for  so 

142 


TEMPTATION 

long.  And  I  wrote  you,  and  you  never  answered. 
And  then  —  I  was  lonesome,  and  so  —  I  came." 

He  looked  back  at  her  steadily.  "  I  didn't  put 
things  quite  right,  Jeanne,"  he  said,  "  I  didn't  mean 
that  it  was  wholly  because  I  didn't  have  money 
any  more.  That  is  part  of  it,  I  guess,  but  there's 
more  to  it  than  just  that.  I'm  sorry  for  a  lot  of 
foolish  things  I've  done,  and  I  mean  to  quit  them." 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  at  the  words,  and  a  new 
expression  came  over  her  face.  "  Oh,"  she  said. 
"  I  see.  So  going  around  with  me  was  foolish,  was 
it?  That's  strange.  You  didn't  seem  to  think  so, 
when  you  were  doing  it,  Jack." 

If  she  had  expected  to  hear  him  withdraw  his 
words,  she  was  disappointed.  "  You  don't  under- 
stand me,  Jeanne,"  he  said,  "  there  was  no  question 
about  my  enjoying  it.  I  didn't  mean  that.  I  en- 
joyed it  too  much  —  that  was  all.  But  that 
doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  it  was  foolishness  for 
both  of  us.  It  was  all  my  fault.  It  was  only  be- 
cause I  got  used  to  seeing  you  around  the  place, 
out  at  The  Birches,  and  you  were  so  pretty,  and 
so  nice,  that  I  wasn't  strong  enough  to  resist  temp- 

H3 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

tation.  And  we  had  some  great  old  times  together. 
Don't  think  I've  turned  preacher  all  at  once,  be- 
cause I  haven't.  We  had  some  bully  times,  and  I 
shall  always  remember  them.  But  I  was  injuring 
you,  Jeanne,  and  I  was  injuring  myself,  too.  We 
were  going  ahead  with  something  that  could  turn 
out  only  one  way  —  we  were  playing  the  devil's  pet 
game.  And  I  thank  God  we  pulled  up  in  time." 

The  girl  stiffled  a  little  yawn;  then  smiled  up  at 
him  more  brightly  than  before,  motioning,  as  she 
did  so,  to  the  arm  of  the  chair.  "  You  have  turned 
preacher,  Jack,"  she  said.  "  Don't  do  it  any  more, 
please;  it's  so  stupid.  And  don't  stand,  either. 
There's  lots  of  room." 

He  shook  his  head.  There  came  into  her  eyes  a 
gleam  of  something  other  than  mirth,  and  as  she 
spoke,  she  raised  her  voice  a  trifle.  "  Sit  down, 
Jack,"  she  said  again. 

Carleton  threw  an  anxious  glance  over  his  shoul- 
der, and  then,  unwillingly  enough,  drew  up  to  the 
table  the  only  other  chair  in  the  room.  Again  the 
gleam  flashed,  far  back  in  her  eyes,  and  once  more 
she  tapped  on  the  arm  of  the  chair.  "  Sit  here," 

144 


'Jack,"  she  murmured,  "have  I  changed?'' — Page  145 


she  said  imperiously,  and  heedful,  not  of  the  words, 
but  of  the  tone,  he  obeyed. 

At  once  her  slender  hand  had  stolen  into  his. 
"  Look  at  me,  Jack,"  she  commanded,  and  re- 
luctantly enough  he  gazed  down  into  the  face  that 
in  the  past  had  fascinated  him  beyond  his  strength. 
As  if  in  a  silent  trial  of  their  wills,  her  eyes  held 
his,  "  Jack,"  she  murmured,  "  have  I  changed  ?  " 

Carleton's  teeth  came  together  sharply;  un- 
consciously the  hand  that  held  hers  tightened  so 
that  she  gave  a  little  cry  of  pain,  before  it  again 
relaxed.  "  No,"  he  muttered  hoarsely,  "  only 
you're  prettier  than  ever,  Jeanne." 

Her  other  hand  crept  upward  until  it  rested  on 
his  shoulder;  still  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  his,  and 
still  he  did  not  look  away.  And  then,  "  Ah,  Jack," 
she  whispered,  "  you  foolish  boy !  What  did  you 
think,  anyway?  That  I  thought  you'd,  marry  me? 
Of  course  I  didn't.  I  wanted  a  good  time  too. 
'  Only  end  one  way/  Jack.  Of  course.  That 
was  the  way  I  wanted  it  to  end.  That's  why  I 
came  here  to-night,  Jack,  dear — " 

At  last  he  had  wrenched  his  eyes  free  from  her 
145 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

gaze.  "Don't  Jeanne!"  he  cried.  "Don't—" 
but  she  clung  the  closer  to  him. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  as  though  not  understanding, 
"  Jack,  what's  changed  you?  Don't  you  want  me?  " 
and  then,  her  whole  tone  altering  in  one  instant's 
flash,  "  There's  some  one  else,  then,"  she  cried. 
"  You  were  never  like  this  before.  Isn't  there, 
Jack?  Isn't  there?" 

Once  more  he  met  her  glance.  "  Yes,  Jeanne," 
he  said,  very  low,  "  there  is." 

On  the  instant,  her  eyes  flamed;  instinctively  she 
drew  back,  and  Carleton,  freed  from  her  grasp, 
started  to  his  feet.  She  rose  also,  quivering  from 
head  to  foot. 

"It's  that  Graham  girl!"  she  cried.  "That 
doll!  Don't  do  it,  Jack !  Don't  marry  her !  She'd 
never  love  you  the  way  I  would.  Don't  do  it,  Jack ! 
We  can  have  such  a  good  time.  I've  got  some 
money;  we  can  get  more.  We  can  go  abroad  to- 
gether. You've  made  me  love  you,  Jack ;  you  can't 
cast  me  off  now.  It  isn't  fair.  I'm  not  asking 
much.  You  can  have  me  Jack,  the  whole  of  me  — 
as  long  as  you  want  me  —  and  then,  when  you're 

146 


TEMPTATION 

tired  of  me,  you  can  leave  me,  and  go  your  way. 
Jack,  please — " 

She  stood  there,  breathing  quick  and  hard,  and 
gazing  at  him  with  such  a  look  on  her  face  that 
half  against  his  will,  he  stepped  forward,  and  took 
her  hand  in  his.  "  Jeanne,"  he  said,  "  God  knows 
I'm  sorry.  I  never  meant  things  to  end  like  this ;  I 
never  thought  you  really  cared.  But  I  can't  do 
what  you  say.  It  is  Marjory  Graham;  I've  asked 
her  to  marry  me,  and  I've  promised  her,  this  very 
night,  to  live  straight  from  now  on.  Don't  think 
it's  easy  for  me,  dear ;  it  isn't.  Don't  think  I  don't 
appreciate  —  everything.  But  we  wouldn't  be 
happy,  Jeanne  —  either  of  us.  It  wouldn't  be 
right ;  it  wouldn't  be  square ;  we'd  both  regret  —  we 
mustn't  do  it,  Jeanne.  I'm  sorry,  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart,  if  I've  hurt  you ;  but  I  never  meant  it. 
You  must  go  your  way,  Jeanne;  and  I  must  go 
mine." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  his  heart  smote  him.  The  girl 
stood,  her  eyes  cast  down,  her  breast  heaving  — 
"My  way,"  she  muttered,  half  under  her  breath. 
"  My  way ;  oh,  God !  "  and  then,  slowly  and  uncer- 

147 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

tainly,  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  and  Carleton  saw 
that  they  were  filled  with  tears.  For  the  first  time 
she  seemed  to  realize  her  dismissal,  and  to  accept  it. 
"  Very  well,"  she  said  wearily,  "  I'll  go,"  and  then, 
after  a  pause,  "  kiss  me,  Jack." 

Carleton  bent  and  kissed  her;  then,  almost 
roughly,  released  her,  and  as  she  turned  away,  stood 
silent,  'with  averted  face,  not  daring  to  trust  h 'ni- 
sei f  to  look. 

The  silence  deepened.  Then,  very  softly,  the 
door  closed.  He  raised  his  eyes.  He  was  alone 
in  the  room.  Like  a  man  physically  spent,  he  threw 
himself  down  into  the  arm-chair, '  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands. 


148 


CHAPTER  IX 

THREE   YEARS   LATER 

"  Ay  me,  how  many  perils  do  enfold  the  righteous  man !  " 

Spenser. 

ACROSS  the  rampart  of  his  desk  Henry  Carle- 
ton  gazed  regretfully  at  his  visitor;  then  once 
again  shook  his  head.  "  I'm  sorry,  Van  Socum," 
he  said,  "  I  hate  to  refuse  such  a  call,  and  I  hate  to 
refuse  you  of  all  men.  A  year  ago  I  should  have 
felt  differently,  but  now  as  you  know,  we're  in  the 
midst  of  hard  times,  and  first  and  last,  one  has  to 
meet  so  many  demands.  I'm  afraid  I  shall  really 
have  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me.  But  I'm  sorry, 
though;  extremely  sorry;  I  only  wish  I  felt  able  to 
respond.  Perhaps  some  time  a  little  later — " 

Slowly  the  Reverend  William  Van  Socum  nodded 
his  head.  From  his  general  appearance  —  his 
bland,  plump,  rosy  face;  his  stout,  well-fed  little 

140 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

body ;  his  ultra  correct  ministerial  garb  —  one 
would  scarcely  have  divined  his  really  unusual  tal- 
ents. For  the  Reverend  William  Van  Socum  was 
the  man  whose  remarkable  ability  to  assist  his 
church  in  a  certain  deprecated,  but  much  needed 
and  excessively  practical  department  of  its  activi- 
ties, had  gained  for  him  among  his  clerical  associ- 
ates the  title,  bestowed  in  ungrudging  admiration, 
of  "  The  Painless  Separator." 

And  now,  while  the  gentle  inclination  of  his  head 
was  meant  to  convey  the  most  sympathetic  under- 
standing, at  the  same  time  he  made  no  move  to  rise, 
but  on  the  contrary  kept  his  seat,  and  unflinchingly 
returned  Henry  Carleton's  gaze.  For  Van 
Socum's  pride  was  touched.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind,  before  entering  the  great  man's  office,  that 
its  doors  should  not  again  be  closed  behind  him 
until  in  the  neat  little  space  opposite  Henry  Carle- 
ton's  name  he  had  seen  inserted  the  pleasantly  round 
sum  of  five  hundred  dollars.  And  now  to  all  ap- 
pearances he  had  met  a  foeman  worthy  of  his  steel 
—  of  his  brass,  possibly  some  envious  detractor 
might  have  preferred  to  say  —  a  man  every  whit  as 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

smooth  and  polished  as  himself,  a  man  who  was 
both  ready  and  able  to  defend  his  little  garrison  of 
beleagured  dollars  with  a  skill  of  fence  and  a  com- 
pleteness of  repulse  which  could  not  but  arouse  Van 
Socum's  somewhat  unwilling  admiration.  Accus- 
tomed to  success  as  he  had  become,  defeat  seemed 
now  well-nigh  assured.  Whimsically  he  thought  of 
the  ancient  problem  of  the  irresistible  force  and  its 
contact  with  the  immovable  body,  and  as  an  after- 
thought he  added  grudgingly  to  himself,  "  This 
man's  wasted  in  business;  he  ought  to  be  one  of  us." 

But  these,  of  course,  were  thoughts  merely. 
Outwardly,  the  reverend  gentleman  gave  no  sign 
that  he  dreaded,  or  even  expected,  a  refusal.  His 
little  oily  professional  smile  was  as  winning  and  as 
confident  as  ever.  Yet  he  realized  that  he  was  deal- 
ing with  a  busy  man,  and  prudently  determined, 
while  the  chance  yet  remained  to  him,  to  play  his 
last  card  without  delay. 

"  I  understand,  my  dear  Mr.  Carleton,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  I  perfectly  understand.  For  a  man  like 
yourself,  a  man  of  your  standing  in  the  community, 
none  can  realize  better  than  I  what  a  tax  these  con- 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

stant  demands  must  be,  on  patience  and  on  pocket- 
book  as  well."  He  paused  for  just  the  veriest 
instant,  inwardly  to  smack  his  lips ;  he  loved  a  well- 
turned  phrase,  above  all  if  it  had  about  it  a  flavor 
of  alliteration,  and  "  On  patience  and  on  pocket- 
book  as  well  "  struck  him  as  distinctly  good.  Then, 
with  a  swift  return  to  business  methods, 

"  But  I  did  feel,  Mr.  Carleton,  that  this  time  you 
would  favor  us.  The  project  of  the  new  altar 
seems  to  have  made  a  wide  appeal  to  all  those  most 
interested  in  the  beautifying  of  our  beloved  church, 
and  example  —  the  example,  let  us  say,  of  a  man 
of  your  type,  Mr.  Carleton  —  does  mean  so  much  to 
some  of  the  weaker  brethren.  Not  every  one,  per- 
haps, realizes  this,  but  I  myself  know  it  to  be  a  mat- 
ter of  the  greatest  consequence,  and  it  was  this 
same  power  of  example  that  I  had  in  mind  when  I 
arranged  to  have  the  preliminary  list  made  public 
to-morrow  in  six  of  the  leading  dailies.  And  for 
my  part,  I  can  see  nothing  out  of  the  way  in  such  a 
proceeding.  The  press  and  the  pulpit  —  or  rather, 
let  us  say,  the  pulpit  and  the  press  —  why  should 
they  not  proceed  together  hand  in  hand,  so  that  all 

152 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

things,  spiritual  and  secular,  may  at  last  work  to- 
gether for  good.  That,  at  least,  is  my  conception 
of  it.  And  the  papers  have  been  very  kind.  Al- 
most invariably,  I  think  I  may  say.  To  a  laborer 
in  the  vineyard,  to  one  who  bears  the  burden  and 
heat  of  the  day,  it  is  gratifying  —  I  must  confess 
it  —  very  gratifying  indeed." 

He  spoke  but  the  truth,  as  Henry  Carleton  well 
knew.  The  Reverend  William  Van  Socum  had  the 
reputation  of  being  the  greatest  ecclesiastical  ad- 
vertiser in  the  city.  Just  how  he  did  it,  none  but 
himself  seemed  to  know,  yet  stony-hearted  editors 
and  impervious  reporters  were  but  as  wax  in  his 
hands.  "  The  pulpit  and  the  press  "  was  not  simply 
another  of  his  favorite  catch-words;  it  meant  some- 
thing substantial  as  well.  Hand  in  hand  they 
traveled,  in  very  truth,  and  it  was  the  bland  and 
smiling  Van  Socum  who  managed  to  unite  them  in 
this  touching  amity. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  reminiscently,  "  six  of  the  lead- 
ing dailies.  And  good  position  in  all  of  them,  too. 
It's  a  splendid  thing  for  us.  So  far  the  Honorable 
Samuel  Rogers  has  made  the  largest  individual 

153 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

subscription  —  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  — 
and  his  name  at  the  head  of  the  list  will  of  course 
mean  a  great  deal.  We  consider  that  he  has  acted 
very  handsomely.  But — "  the  smile  again  ap- 
peared, like  the  sun  from  behind  the  clouds,  depre- 
cating, wistful,  with  just  a  hint  of  gentle  reproach, 
and  oily  enough  to  have  turned  an  ocean  into 
calm  — "  but  above  that  of  Mr.  Rogers  we  had 
hoped  to  have  one  other  name,  one  other  name  still 
more  widely  and  —  if  you  will  pardon  me  —  still 
more  favorably  known  than  even  that  of  Mr.  Rogers 
himself." 

Henry  Carleton  looked,  as  he  felt,  a  trifle  uncom- 
fortable. "  I  deplore,"  he  said,  a  little  stiffly,  "  any 
publicity  in  such  matters.  The  right  hand,  and  the 
left,  Van  Socum,  you  know." 

Occasionally  an  expert  boxer,  for  some  reason  of 
his  own,  will  leave  himself  unguarded,  purposely  to 
invite  a  blow.  With  joy  the  Reverend  William 
Van  Socum  foresaw  the  beginning  of  the  end. 
"  True !  true ! "  he  cried,  "  as  far  as  the  giver  is 
concerned.  But  for  the  effect  on  others,  Mr.  Carle- 

154 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

ton.  That  is  where  you  are  in  error.  Let  your 
light  so  shine !  That  is  the  injunction  which  covers 
the  case.  The  shining  light,  Mr.  Carleton!  The 
shining  light !  " 

The  blow  sped  home.  Henry  Carleton  meekly 
inclined  his  head,  as  it  seemed,  a  willing  sacrifice. 
"  I  deplore  publicity  — "  he  again  began,  but  his 
tone  was  feebler  by  far;  and  then  he  added,  meta- 
phorically throwing  up  the  sponge,  "  in  six  papers, 
did  you  say  ?  " 

Van  Socum  bore  his  honors  modestly.  "  Six," 
he  answered,  again  producing  the  subscription  book 
from  his  pocket,  "  six ;  and  excellent  position  in  all. 
And  of  course  our  own  paper,  The  Flaming  Torch, 
which  in  itself  has  a  circulation  by  no  means  con- 
temptible. Let  me  see.  Five  hundred,  Mr.  Carle- 
ton?  A  thousand,  perhaps,  would  be  almost  too 
large  a  sum." 

Inwardly  Henry  Carleton  was  returning  the  com- 
pliment the  Reverend  Doctor  had  just  paid  to  him. 
"  This  fellow,"  he  thought,  "  is  thrown  away  on  the 
church,  I  could  use  a  man  like  him  to  excellent 

155 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

advantage."  "  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  five  hundred, 
I  think.  I  shouldn't  wish  to  be  criticized  on  the 
score  of  ostentation." 

The  victor  drew  out  his  pencil;  then,  almost  in 
the  act  of  writing,  paused,  as  if  suddenly  recalling 
something  to  mind. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Carleton,"  he  asked,  "did 
some  one  tell  me  the  other  day  that  your  nephew 
had  returned  from  the  West  ?  " 

Henry  Carleton's  face  was  expressionless. 
"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  he  is  back.  He  has  been  in 
town  several  days." 

Van  Socum  nodded  amiably.  "  How  very  pleas- 
ant !  "  he  said  smoothly.  "  He  is  —  improved  —  I 
trust?" 

A  slight  frown  seemed  to  hover  about  the  bank- 
er's brow.  He  appeared  to  place  a  curb  on  his 
speech.  "  Greatly,  thank  you,"  he  answered  briefly. 

The  clerical  smile  again  burst  into  bloom.  "  So 
glad;  so  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  murmured;  then 
continued  brightly,  "  but  I  felt  sure  that  it  would  be 
so.  There  was  such  a  field  for  it.  When  he  left 
us,  one  might  almost  have  dared  to  uproot  the  tares 

156 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

without  feeling  that  the  wheat  would  be  in  danger. 
So  glad  —  so  very  glad." 

He  paused  a  moment;  then,  as  if  tentatively  feel- 
ing his  way  toward  a  possible  germ  for  a  sermon, 
he  moralized,  "Three  years!  How  swiftly  time 
passes  us  by!  What  changes  it  brings  to  us  all! 
To  you  —  to  me  —  to  your  nephew  — "  He 
stopped  abruptly,  his  ideas  swinging  suddenly  into 
another  channel,  "  And  speaking  of  the  passage  of 
time,  Mr.  Carleton,  what  a  change  it  has  brought  in 
your  daughter,  Rose !  I  remember  her  as  a  charm- 
ing child,  and  behold,  I  met  her  the  other  afternoon 
at  a  little  tea  —  why,  Mr.  Carleton,  I  assure  you  I 
could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes.  A  young  lady  — 
grown-up,  self-possessed,  a  half-dozen  young  men 
around  her.  .Why,  I  was  amazed.  The  passage  of 
time  — " 

He  half  paused;  perhaps,  if  the  truth  were  told, 
Henry  Carleton  half  broke  in  upon  him.  "  Yes," 
the  banker  agreed,  "  it  passes,  as  you  say.  And  it's 
valuable,  Van  Socum.  We  can't  afford  to  waste  it, 
any  of  us." 

The  minister  smiled  —  forgivingly  —  and  bend- 
157 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

ing  over  his  book,  he  wrote  —  yet  did  not  at  once 
vanish.  Of  a  man  so  comfortably  portly,  of  a 
plumpness  so  suggestive  of  a  certain  counterpart  in 
the  animal  creation,  perhaps  that  could  hardly  have 
been  expected.  Instead  he  rose  slowly,  beaming 
on  his  conquered  antagonist.  "  By  their  fruits  — " 
he  murmured. 

Henry  Carleton  nodded,  handing  the  check  across 
the  desk.  "Exactly,"  he  said  dryly.  "By  the 
way,  Van  Socum,  I  heard  a  capital  story  the  other 
day.  It  was  told  —  this  time  —  about  a  man  high 
up  in  municipal  office.  '  Is  that  fellow  Blank,' 
asked  some  one  who  didn't  know  just  what  position 
he  really  occupied,  '  is  that  fellow  Blank  a  poli- 
tician—  or  just  a  common  thief  f  Good,  wasn't 
it?" 

The  Reverend  William  Van  Socum  laughed 
heartily.  "  Oh,  capital,"  he  cried,  and  then,  cas- 
ually, he  added,  "  you  say  that  was  told  about  a 
politician?  " 

Henry  Carleton  met  his  glance.  "  Yes,"  he  an- 
swered, "  that  time  —  it  was  told  about  a  politician. 
Well,  good-by,  Van  Socum;  call  again.  Always 

158 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

glad  to  see  you,  you  know,  at  any  time.  Good- 
by." 

Half  way  to  the  door  Van  Socum  turned.  "  Oh, 
by  the  way,  Mr.  Carleton,"  he  said,  "  are  any  of 
these  rumors  that  I  hear  true,  by  any  chance  ?  Are 
you  going  to  give  your  friends  an  opportunity  in 
the  near  future  to  see  you  reaping  still  further  and 
still  higher  honors?  Or  is  it  merely  gossip?  For 
my  part,  I  most  sincerely  hope  that  it's  all  true." 

Henry  Carleton's  expression  and  tone  were  alike 
inscrutable.  "  Thank  you  very  much,  I'm  sure," 
he  returned,  "  but  really  I'm  not  at  liberty  to  talk 
just  now." 

Van  Socum  nodded.  "  I  perfectly  understand," 
he  answered.  "  Well,  in  any  event  I  shall  hope. 
And  don't  forget,  Mr.  Carleton,  the  shining  light. 
It's  most  important.  Good-by,"  and  a  little  hastily 
he  passed  from  the  room,  with  a  certain  satisfied 
feeling  that  verbal  honors  were  at  least  easy,  and 
that  from  the  field  of  more  practical  warfare  he  had 
again  returned  a  triumphant  victor. 

Left  alone,  Henry  Carleton,  smiling  a  little  to 
himself,  once  more  leaned  comfortably  back  in  his 

159 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

chair.  As  he  sat  there,  the  waning  sunlight,  slant- 
ing through  the  tall  window,  fell  pleasantly  upon 
him,  lighting  up  the  dark,  black-bearded  face,  with 
the  full  red  lips,  and  the  keen  and  scrutinizing  eyes. 
A  noticeable  man,  in  almost  any  company,  he  would 
have  been,  and  justly  so  as  well.  Doing  many 
things,  he  did  them  all  with  skill.  And  still,  in  spite 
of  the  activities  in  which  he  was  actually  engaged, 
his  friends  were  wont  to  talk  of  the  many  other 
things  he  might  have  done  —  living  his  life  over 
for  him  in  retrospect,  as  people  will  —  and  it  was 
significant  of  his  many-sidedness  to  note  the  differ- 
ent views  which  different  people  held  of  him. 
Some  said  that  the  bar  had  been  robbed  of  a  great 
lawyer,  others  that  the  universities  had  lost  a  great 
teacher  and  instructor  of  youth,  others  still,  like  Mr. 
Van  Socurn,  that  the  church  alone  should  rightfully 
have  claimed  his  great  talents.  No  one,  perhaps, 
had  ever  suggested  that  the  stage  had  lost  a  great 
actor. 

And  now,  not  satisfied  with  the  active  benevo- 
lence that  he  had  just  displayed,  Henry  Carleton 
was  passively  showing  the  same  praiseworthy  spirit 

160 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

which  actuated  his  every  deed  and  word.  His 
day's  work  was  done.  It  was  ten  minutes  after 
five,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  possible  reason  why 
he  should  longer  wait  for  the  young  man  with 
whom  he  had  made  an  appointment  at  five  o'clock 
sharp.  Adding  to  the  fact  that  the  young  man  was 
late,  the  further  information  that  Henry  Carleton 
felt  tolerably  sure  he  was  coming  to  ask  some  sort 
of  favor  of  him,  we  behold  the  heights  to  which 
it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  rise. 

Even  patience,  however,  has  its  definite  limits, 
and  at  a  quarter  past  five  Henry  Carleton  snapped 
his  watch  with  a  click,  and  had  one  hand  already 
Outstretched  to  close  the  top  of  his  desk,  when  the 
clerk  knocked,  and  opened  the  door  far  enough  to 
announce  Mr.  Vaughan.  Henry  Carleton  nodded, 
sighed,  again  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  relin- 
quished the  idea  of  getting  the  five-thirty  home. 

A  moment  later  Arthur  Vaughan  entered  the 
office  with  the  rather  breathless  haste  of  the  man 
who  is  thoroughly  aware  that  to  keep  a  great  finan- 
cier waiting  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  is  an  offense 
not  lightly  to  be  condoned.  Indeed,  about  his 

161 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

whole  manner,  in  spite  of  his  thirty  years,  there  was 
still  something  boyish  and  deprecating,  the  air  of  a 
man  who  is  perhaps  too  modest,  too  slow  to  assert 
himself,  yet  who,  if  these  be  faults,  is  perhaps  all 
the  more  likable  for  possessing  them. 

He  came  quickly  forward.  "  I'm  awfully  sorry, 
Mr.  Carleton,"  he  began,  "  I  know  I'm  late ;  but 
really  I  couldn't  help  it." 

There  may  have  been  something  a  little  less  cor- 
dial than  usual  in  the  manner  in  which  Henry 
Carleton  shook  the  young  man's  proffered  hand. 
Yet  his  voice,  when  he  answered,  was  politeness 
itself.  Early  in  life  he  had  made  it  his  invariable 
rule  to  treat  every  man  who  had  once  crossed  the 
threshold  of  his  office  with  complete  and  unvarying 
courtesy,  until  he  had  found  out  exactly  what  the 
visitor's  business  might  be.  After  that,  there  was 
of  course  room  for  wider  discretion.  And  so  now, 
"  Don't  mention  it,"  he  said ;  "  a  trifle  late,  perhaps, 
but  never  mind.  And  what  may  I  be  able  to  do  for 
you,  Mr.  Vaughan  ?  " 

Once  seated,  Vaughan  appeared  to  be  even  more 
ill  at  ease  than  before.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 

162 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

floor.  His  hat  revolved  aimlessly  and  sheepishly 
enough  between  his  nervous  fingers.  "  Why,"  he 
began,  "  why,  the  fact  is,  Mr.  Carleton  —  you  see 
what  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  —  you  see  —  "  and 
then  he  came  to  a  full  and  embarrassed  stop. 

Henry  Carleton,  through  a  long  and  varied  ex- 
perience, was  nothing  if  not  a  shrewd  reader  of 
men.  The  same  awkward  hesitation,  the  same 
nervousness,  the  same  half-cringing  expression;  he 
had  seen  them  all  displayed  'many  times  before  by 
men  who  had  sat  there  in  the  inner  office  in  the 
selfsame  seat  which  Vaughan  was  occupying  now. 
And  nine  times  out  of  ten  it  all  meant  but  one  thing. 
In  the  brief  pause  analysis  and  deduction  in  his 
mind  were  practically  one.  Vaughan's  manner 
showed  embarrassment.  Vaughan  was  a  would-be 
literary  man.  All  would-be  literary  men,  in  greater 
or  less  degree,  were  poor.  Vaughan,  presuming  on 
a  rather  slight  acquaintanceship,  had  come  to  bor- 
row money.  The  whole  matter  was  painfully  plain. 

And  then,  even  at  the  very  instant  when  Henry 
Carleton  had  sorrowfully,  but  with  philosophy, 
arrived  at  this  inevitable  conclusion,  Vaughan, 

163 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

•drawing  a  long  breath,  at  last  found  his  tongue. 
"  Why,"  he  said,  speaking  with  a  seeming  boldness 
and  hardihood  which  in  reality  were  but  the  result 
of  the  most  extreme  embarrassment,  "  it's  like  this, 
Mr.  Carleton;  I  want  to  marry  Rose." 

The  proverbial  bombshell,  exploding  at  Henry 
Carleton's  feet,  could  hardly  have  made  the  same 
havoc  with  his  body  that  Vaughan's  few  words 
managed  to  create  in  his  mind.  And  yet,  to  his 
credit  be  it  said,  his  habitual  self-control  now  stood 
him  in  such  stead  that  after  the  one  first  uncon- 
trollable glance  of  sheer  surprise,  he  at  once  con- 
trived to  conceal  not  only  his  amazement,  but  as 
well  any  other  feeling  that  might  have  been  agitat- 
ing his  soul.  And  in  another  moment,  indeed,  he 
had  even  successfully  achieved  a  very  fair  imita- 
tion of  a  jocular  smile.  "  Rose,"  he  echoed,  "  my 
daughter  Rose!  Why,  you're  joking  with  me,  my 
dear  fellow.  She's  not  eighteen  yet.  She's  a 
child." 

Vaughan,  now  that  the  worst  was  over,  did  not 
seem  to  be  properly  disconcerted  at  the  reply. 
"  Oh,  I  know  she's  quite  young,"  he  answered  read- 

164 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

ily  enough,  "  but  that  doesn't  seem  to  make  any  par- 
ticular difference.  We're  both  prepared  for  a 
long  engagement.  I'm  not  well  off,  in  the  least. 
It's  bound  to  be  some  time  before  I  could  dream  of 
providing  for  her  in  any  proper  way  at  all.  But 
I  love  her,  Mr.  Carleton  —  as  much,  I  think,  as  any 
man  could  —  and  she  loves  me,  and  we  think,  after 
all,  that's  the  main  thing.  The  other  details  we'll 
work  out  somehow,  I  guess." 

Henry  Carleton  had  now  perfectly  regained  his 
self-possession.  He  gazed  at  the  young  man  with 
benevolence  in  his  eye.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he  assented,  a 
little  dreamily,  "  love,  of  course;  that's  the  great  es- 
sential. With  that  I  thoroughly  agree.  And  yet, 
while  with  me  Rose's  wishes  are  the  first  considera- 
tion—  no,  rather  I  should  say  the  only  considera- 
tion —  still,  as  I  Hnderstand  you  to  say  yourself,  it 
must  equally  be  a  point  of  proper  pride  with  every 
man  to  know  that  he  is  earning  an  honest  living, 
amply  sufficient  for  all  future  needs.  I  take  it  that 
you  would  hardly  quarrel  with  that,  Mr. 
Vaughan?  " 

To  Vaughan  it  appeared  that  he  was  progressing 
165 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

famously.  "  No,  indeed,"  he  cried  readily  enough, 
"  I  should  say  not.  That's  the  first  thing  to  con- 
sider, of  course.  But  I  think  I'm  going  to  be  able 
to  solve  that  difficulty  in  a  short  time  now.  I  think 
I'm  fairly  on  my  way  to  a  little  luck  at  last.  You 
know,  of  course,  Mr.  Carleton,  in  any  of  the  arts  it 
isn't  exactly  the  same  proposition  for  a  man  as  if 
he'd  chosen  a  business  career.  There,  if  he  gets  a 
start,  and  then  sticks  to  his  job,  and  shows  any 
kind  of  ability  at  all,  after  a  while  he's  almost  cer- 
tain to  get  somewhere  or  other.  But  with  any  of 
the  arts  —  that's  the  chance  a  man  takes  when  he 
turns  his  back  on  the  solid,  steady  kind  of  things  — 
you  can  work  along  for  a  devil  of  a  while,  put- 
ting in  the  very  best  that's  in  you,  too,  and  yet  you 
always  stand  a  good  chance  of  not  arriving  at  all, 
or,  if  you  do,  perhaps  not  till  two  or  three  hundred 
years  after  you're  dead.  And  of  course,  while  even 
that,  in  a  sense,  is  very  gratifying,  still  it's  hardly 
practical.  Dining  late,  but  in  select  company,  in 
Lander's  phrase,  is  all  very  well,  if  you  can  afford 
it,  but  the  majority  of  us  poor  fellows  have  to 

166 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

dine  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  The  other  thing's  a 
luxury  we  can't  afford." 

Henry  Carleton  nodded.  "  Quite  so,  quite  so," 
he  said,  "  I  know  something  of  that  myself.  I 
thoroughly  appreciate  all  the  difficulties  in  the  way 
of  combining  devotion  to  art  with  a  large  income. 
It's  one  of  the  least  gratifying  things  about  our 
life  of  the  present  day.  And  still,  too,  each  year 
I  believe  the  artist  is  coming  more  and  more  fully 
into  his  own.  But  you  were  going  to  say  —  about 
your  immediate  prospects  — " 

Vaughan  flushed  a  little.  "  I  didn't  mean  to 
ramble  on  into  so  long  a  preface,"  he  said,  "  I'm 
afraid  it  was  nothing  but  a  desire  to  excuse  myself, 
anyway.  However,  here's  where  I  think  I  really 
have  a  chance  at  last.  I've  written  a  book  —  a 
novel  —  and  it's  in  the  hands  of  Small  and  White 
now.  Of  course  I  needn't  tell  you  what  it  would 
mean  to  have  their  imprint  on  a  book  —  it  would 
be  half  the  battle  to  start  with.  And  I've  been  able 
to  get  a  little  information  in  a  roundabout  way,  so 
that  I  have  some  idea  of  what's  happening.  I  know 

167 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

the  book  has  got  by  the  preliminary  stages,  anyway ; 
I  know  that  they're  really  considering  it  seriously, 
and  that  is  something  in  its  favor.  But  I'm  hoping 
for  more  than  that;  I'm  hoping  that  they  will  really 
accept  it,  and  launch  it  in  good  style;  and  if  they 
do,  why  —  I  know  of  course  you'll  think  I'm  con- 
ceited and  over-fond  of  myself  to  say  such  a  thing 
—  but,  with  all  sincerity,  Mr.  Carleton,  I  think  the 
book  would  be  a  success;  I  think  it  makes  an  ap- 
proach to  something  like  literary  merit.  Oh,  if  I 
could  once  get  my  start  —  get  some  pretext  for 
thinking  that  I  had  a  right  to  put  more  and  more 
time  into  writing,  and  less  and  less  into  what  is 
really  only  the  merest  hack  work,  that  has  to  be 
done  so  hastily  and  superficially  that  in  the  end  it 
would  kill  any  man's  style  —  then  I'd  work  as  no- 
body ever  worked  before  —  I'd  kill  myself  to  learn 
to  write  as  I  want  to  write — " 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  his  hands  clenched,  his 
face  ablaze  with  the  passion  of  the  artist  who  craves 
to  express  in  concrete  form  the  dreams  and  visions 
that  float  athwart  his  brain.  Henry  Carleton  sat 
regarding  him  narrowly,  his  face  expressionless, 

168 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

but  when  he  spoke,  his  tone  could  hardly  have  beerr 
kinder  or  more  sympathetic. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand  your  feeling  exactly," 
he  said,  "  and  your  ambition  is  a  most  worthy  one. 
I'm  delighted  to  hear  about  the  book,  and  if  you  will 
allow  me  to  do  so,  I  should  be  very  happy  to  try  to 
help  a  little.  There  are  one  or  two  ways  that  occur 
to  me  offhand  —  understand  me,  of  course, —  ways 
perfectly  legitimate  and  businesslike  in  every  par- 
ticular, in  which  I  think  a  word  from  me  with  Small 
and  White  might  at  least  do  no  harm.  Won't  you 
try  to  get  me  a  list  of  the  men  who  do  their  reading 
for  them?  We'll  leave  no  stone  unturned  that 
properly  may  be  turned  to  give  your  effort  a  fair 
show.  Rose's  happiness  is  my  happiness,  and  to 
see  you  in  a  position  when  you  may  rightfully  pay 
your  addresses  to  her  —  that  I  most  earnestly  de- 
sire. And  in  the  meantime,  you  must  come  out  to 
The  Birches  —  let  me  see  —  come  out  to-mor- 
row night,  won't  you,  and  dine  with  us?  Jack's 
coming,  and  another  man,  I  think.  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted to  have  you  join  us,  and  I  think,  after  what 
you  have  told  me,  I  may  safely  answer  for  Rose." 

169 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

He  rose  as  he  finished  speaking,  extending  his 
"hand  in  farewell.  Vaughan,  rising  also,  could  only 
stammer  his  thanks.  "  You're  too  kind,  altogether, 
Mr.  Carleton,"  he  managed  to  say.  "  I  know  how 
any  word  from  you  would  meet  with  the  most  re- 
spectful consideration  from  Small  and  White.  It 
would  help  immensely.  And  as  for  to-morrow 
night,  nothing  could  please  me  more.  And  how  is 
Jack?  I  haven't  seen  him  since  he  got  back  from 
the  West." 

"Jack  is  greatly  improved,  I  think,"  Henry 
Carleton  answered,  as  it  seemed  to  Vaughan,  a  trifle 
-shortly,  "  however,  you'll  see  him  to-morrow  night, 
and  can  judge  for  yourself." 

Vaughan  nodded.  "  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  he 
said.  "  I  got  the  impression  from  his  letters  that  he 
was  doing  far  better  in  every  way,  and  I'm  awfully 
glad  if  it's  so.  Well,  I  must  go,  Mr.  Carleton. 
You've  been  very  kind  to  take  everything  the  way 
you  have.  I  know,  of  course,  in  one  way,  at  least, 
what  a  disappointment  this  must  be  for  you.  I 
don't  care  such  a  lot  myself.  Family  trees  and  all 
that  never  meant  such  a  great  deal  to  me,  and 

170 


THREE  YEARS  LATER 

money  bags  even  less,  but  for  Rose's  sake,  why,  I 
wish  I  were  the  wealthiest  man  in  the  world,  and 
the  most  aristocratic;  she  ought  to  have  everything 
that  a  girl  can  have.  So  you're  awfully  good  not 
to  make  a  row." 

Again  Henry  Carleton  smiled.  "  Nonsense,"  he 
said  heartily,  "  those  things  make  no  difference 
with  me,  either.  You've  chosen  a  great  career,  and 
all  we  must  do  now  is  to  make  success  assured,  so 
that  you  can  come  to  me  as  I  know  you  want  to 
come,  saying,  *  Mr.  Carleton,  I'm  earning  a  fair 
living;  I  can  keep  your  daughter  from  want;  I 
wish  to  marry  her.'  That's  the  way  you'll  be  com- 
ing some  day,  and  you'll  find  no  one  more  ready  to 
congratulate  you  than  I.  Good-by  again ;  good-by." 

As  Vaughan  left  the  office,  Carleton  slowly  re- 
seated himself.  "  Strange,"  he  murmured,  "  a 
prospective  son-in-law  in  young  Vaughan,  and  I 
never  even  dreamed  of  it.  Very  prospective,  too; 
that's  one  comfort;  and  he  seems  actually  to  be- 
lieve he  may  succeed  in  a  literary  career.  Odd, 
what  a  time  youth  is  for  such  dreams.  He  seems 
rather  an  inoffensive  young  man,  at  least ;  plastic,  I 

171 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

should  imagine,  and  rather  easy  to  influence,  if  one 
only  goes  about  it  in  the  right  way.  That,  I  judge, 
is  his  weak  point;  that,  and  too  great  a  tendency 
to  confide  in  others.  Due,  I  suppose,  to  the  lack  of 
a  sound  business  training."  He  sat  silently  for 
some  moments,  then  repeated  thoughtfully,  "  The 
lack  of  a  sound  business  training,"  and  reached  for 
the  telephone.  And  then,  a  moment  later,  "  Is  Mr. 
Cummings  in?  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it,  Jim?  Want  to 
run  over  for  a  moment?  Important?  Yes,  I 
should  call  it  so.  Thank  you.  Good-by,"  and 
restoring  the  receiver  to  its  hook,  he  gave  himself 
up  to  earnest  thought. 


172 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   BIRCHES   AGAIN 

"  The  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him." 

Shakespeare. 

OPPOSITE  the  gateway  of  the  Eversley  train, 
the  three  men  stood  grouped  together,  with 
growing  impatience  awaiting  Jack  Carleton's  ar- 
rival. The  gilded  hands  of  the  big  clock,  embedded 
in  the  solid  masonry  of  the  station  wall,  now 
pointed  to  three  minutes  of  five;  the  Eversley 
"flyer"  left  at  five  precisely;  and  the  long  train 
was  filling  more  rapidly  each  instant.  Henry 
Carleton's  tone  plainly  enough  showed  his  displeas- 
ure. "  Whatever  else  it  may  have  done  for  him," 
he  observed,  "  I  can't  see  that  a  residence  in  Mon- 
tana has  improved  Jack's  habits  of  punctuality. 
Perhaps,  Vaughan,  you  wouldn't  mind  waiting  here 
for  him  and  letting  us  go  ahead  and  make  sure  of 
getting  seats.  What  do  you  say,  Cummings  ?  " 

173 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Cummings  nodded  with  alacrity.  He  was  a  man 
between  thirty  and  thirty-five,  tall  and  heavily  built. 
His  face,  while  rather  of  the  bulldog  type,  yet  to 
the  eye  of  the  careful  observer  seemed  to  disclose 
a  certain  weakness  under  the  outward  show  of 
strength.  His  complexion  was  of  a  vivid  red,  plen- 
ti  fully  ornamented  with  those  souvenirs  which 
come  at  length  as  badges  of  distinction  to  those  who 
have  had  the  perseverance  to  drink  hard  and  steadily 
over  a  long  enough  term  of  years.  His  hair  was 
very  black  and  very  curly ;  his  tie  perfectly  matched 
his  complexion;  and  his  clothes,  though  of  excellent 
make  and  cut,  yet  seemed  a  little  obtrusive  as  well, 
as  if  the  effort  at  gentility  had  been  somehow  over- 
done. Possibly  several  small  trifles  in  his  apparel  — • 
the  conspicuously  high  polish  on  his  shoes,  the  violet- 
bordered  corner  of  the  immaculate  handkerchief, 
just  visible  above  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  the 
pair  of  very  new  tan  gloves  that  he  carried  in  his  left 
hand  —  all  proclaimed  something  of  the  inner  man ; 
a  man  not  lacking  in  a  certain  force  and  aggressive- 
ness, even  in  a  kind  of  blustering  self-assertion  and 
desire  for  recognition,  yet  one  who  still  realized 

174 


THE  BIRCHES  AGAIN 

with  vague  discomfort,  that  there  was  something 
wrong  about  him.  Jim  Cummings  was  far  from 
being  a  fool.  He  was  well-versed  in  the  ways  of 
the  city;  had  "  been  around,"  had  "  seen  life;  "  was 
altogether  a  pretty  shrewd  and  capable  young  man. 
And  yet  —  spite  of  all  —  there  was  still  a  myster- 
ious something  somewhere  lacking.  To  save  his 
soul,  he  could  not  have  told  what  it  was.  Perhaps 
Henry  Carleton  could. 

"What  do  I  say?"  he  echoed.  "Sure,  Mr. 
Carleton;  suit  me  fine.  Just  as  cheap  to  sit  down 
as  to  stand,  you  know.  Sure,  let's  get  along." 

In  thus  voicing  his  delight,  it  chanced  that  he 
spoke  the  truth,  as  sometimes,  indeed,  he  was  wont 
to  do.  Merely  to  be  seen  alone  with  Henry  Carle- 
ton,  in  what  would  doubtless  have  been  his  phrase, 
"  meant  a  lot  "  to  him.  And  to  have  an  hour's  ride 
with  this  versatile  man  of  affairs,  who  had  made  a 
great  name  for  himself  in  "  straight "  business,  in 
the  stock  market,  and  in  politics ;  who  was  possessed 
of  "inside  information";  who,  if  he  chose,  could 
give  a  friend  a  "  straight  tip  " ;  and  who  had  now 
been  kind  enough  again  to  ask  him  out  to  spend  the 

175 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

night,  as  on  two  or  three  memorable  occasions  he 
had  done  before;  why,  this  was  a  chance  that  might 
well  "  mean  a  lot  "  to  him  in  more  senses  than  one. 

Arthur  Vaughan,  no  great  admirer  of  Cummings, 
appeared,  as  indeed  he  was,  equally  well  pleased  at 
Henry  Carleton's  words.  "  Yes,  indeed,"  he  as- 
sented cordially,  "  don't  run  the  risk  of  missing  a 
seat,  Mr.  Carleton.  I  remember  Jack's  habits  of 
old.  You  go  right  along,  and  I'll  wait  here  for 
him." 

Forthwith  the  two  men  took  their  departure,  and 
Vaughan,  waiting  until  only  a  scant  half  minute 
remained,  was  just  on  the  point  of  leaving  his  post, 
when  he  espied  Carleton  threading  his  way  hastily 
through  the  crowd.  With  only  the  briefest  of 
greetings,  they  swung  aboard  the  rear  car,  by  good 
fortune  found  the  one  remaining  vacant  seat,  and 
then  Vaughan  turned  and  slowly  surveyed  his 
friend  from  head  to  foot.  At  once  he  gave  a  quick 
smile  of  satisfaction.  "  Well,  Jack,"  he  said,  "  you 
are  looking  fit.  I  don't  think  you  ever  looked 
better  in  your  life." 

"  Oh,  pretty  fair,  thanks,"  Carleton  answered, 
176 


THE  BIRCHES  AGAIN 

but  his  appearance,  indeed,  far  more  than  bore  out 
his  words.  He  had  regained  and  increased  the 
physical  vigor  of  his  college  days.  He  was 
broader,  thicker,  more  solidly  built,  with  an  im- 
pression of  reserve  strength  which  he  had  lacked 
before.  Nor  did  the  change  stop  there.  In  face 
and  feature,  in  his  manner,  in  his  whole  bearing, 
there  had  come  a  change,  and  a  change,  too,  in  every 
way  for  the  better.  In  his  expression,  the  old  un- 
certainty of  purpose  had  given  place  to  a  look  of 
determined  resolve;  in  his  manner  there  was  a  new 
alertness,  a  new  interest ;  from  his  eyes  and  mouth 
a  certain  indescribable  something  had  vanished, 
leaving  them  pleasantly  frank  and  wholesome. 

With  a  pleased  laugh,  Vaughan  looked  down  at 
his  friend's  big  brown  hand,  and  placed  his  own, 
white  and  slender,  beside  it.  "  I  guess,"  he  said, 
"if  it  came  to  a  fight,  Jack,  you  could  probably 
manage  to  lick  me." 

Carleton  smiled,  and  with  equal  interest  returned 
Vaughan's  gaze.  To  him,  Vaughan  appeared 
scarcely  to  have  changed  at  all.  About  him  there 
was  something  of  the  man  who  is  given  to  habitual 

177 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

overwork,  yet  otherwise,  in  his  rather  delicate  way, 
he  looked  healthy  and  vigorous,  and  his  face  itself 
was  still  as  pleasant  and  as  kindly  as  of  old.  Carle- 
ton  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  think  there  will  be 
any  fight,  Arthur,"  he  said,  "  my  fighting  days  are 
over.  I've  learned  that  much  since  I  went  away. 
I've  come  to  believe  that  they  don't  pay  —  fights  of 
any  kind." 

Vaughan  nodded,  quick  to  take  his  meaning. 
"  Good,"  he  answered,  "  I'm  mighty  glad  to  hear  it, 
Jack." 

Carleton's  glance  had  been  roaming  up  and  down 
the  aisle.  "  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  where's  the 
rest  of  our  merry  party?  Where's  my  respected 
uncle?  And  wasn't  there  somebody  else  he  was 
going  to  bring  out  with  him?" 

Vaughan's  eyes  searched  the  car  in  vain.  "  I 
guess  Mr.  Carleton's  up  ahead,"  he  returned,  "  prob- 
ably in  the  smoker  with  Cummings." 

Jack  Carleton  frowned.  "  Cummings  ? "  he 
queried,  "  which  Cummings  ?  Jim  ?  " 

"Yes,  Jim,"  Vaughan  assented,  "why?  Know 
him?" 

178 


THE  BIRCHES  AGAIN 

Carleton  nodded.  "  Yes,  I  know  him,  all  right. " 
From  his  tone  it  would  have  been  possible  to 
draw  the  inference  that  his  opinion  of  Cummings 
was  scarcely  favorable.  But  when,  after  a  pause, 
he  turned  again  to  his  friend,  it  was  not  of  Cum- 
mings, but  of  Henry  Carleton  that  he  spoke. 
"And  how's  Henry  been  standing  it?"  he  asked, 
"  I've  hardly  heard  anything,  you  see,  for  practically 
three  years  now.  I'm  away  behind  the  times." 

"  Why,"  Vaughan  answered,  "  he's  a  bigger  man 
than  ever,  Jack.  I  guess  I'm  pretty  well  posted  on 
him.  Being  on  the  paper,  you  know,  you  pick  up  a 
lot.  He's  a  power  on  the  Street  now,  and  he's  been 
making  big  strides  in  politics,  besides.  Some  folks 
think  he's  right  in  line  for  the  vacancy  in  the  United 
States  senatorship.  And  I'm  not  sure  but  what  it's 
so,  too.  Then  he's  doing  more  for  charity  now 
than  he  used  to.  He  gave  five  thousand  at  one 
crack  the  other  day  to  something  or  other  —  a  mu- 
sical conservatory,  I  think  it  was.  And  he  does  a 
lot  here  at  Eversley.  The  people  out  this  way  think 
he's  just  about  right.  Gave  a  thousand  last  month 
to  the  Eversley  library,  they  say.  Oh,  I  tell  you  it's 

179 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

good  to  see  a  man  on  the  crest  of  the  wave  who  still 
has  an  eye  for  the  poor  devils  down  in  the  hollow ;  " 
he  paused  for  a  moment,  then  added,  with  a 
smile,  "  of  whom  I  have  the  honor  to  be  one,  Jack. 
You  know  I  haven't  made  more  than  a  million  out 
of  reporting.  It's  funny,  but  journalists  don't  seem 
to  get  appreciated  in  the  salary  line.  But  then,  I 
oughtn't  to  complain.  I've  made  a  living,  and  kept 
out  of  debt,  and  if  I  hadn't  had  the  folks  down 
home  to  look  after,  I  might  have  had  a  little  put  by, 
too.  I'm  not  discouraged,  either.  I  still  consider 
it  a  privilege  to  be  alive,  and  not  to  be  kicked. 

"  But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  Mr. 
Carleton,  and  what  he's  going  to  do  for  me.  I've 
written  a  novel  that  I'm  trying  to  get  published,  and 
he's  going  to  help  me.  I  don't  mean,  of  course,  that 
such  things  don't  go  strictly  on  their  merits,  but  still, 
even  then,  a  friend  at  court  doesn't  do  any  harm. 
I've  seen  a  lot  of  it,  or  I  wouldn't  talk  that  way. 
There's  an  inside  story,  I've  come  to  believe,  and 
an  inside  track,  in  everything,  even  in  art,  where  of 
all  places  there  shouldn't  be.  Not  always,  of 
course,  but,  I  believe,  oftener  than  you'd  think. 

1 80 


THE  BIRCHES  AGAIN 

And  Mr.  Carleton's  surprisingly  well  known,  every- 
where. I've  been  amazed  at  it.  I  can't  for  the  life 
of  me  see  how  he  manages  to  get  the  time  for  all 
his  different  interests,  but  he  does  it  somehow,  and 
what's  more  remarkable  still,  he  contrives  to  do 
everything  well.  His  last  bit  of  literary  criticism 
in  Cosmopolis  was  really  excellently  done.  It's 
been  well  spoken  of  everywhere.  So  now  that  he's 
going  to  turn  to  and  help,  I'm  immensely  en- 
couraged." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Carleton  sat  silent,  as  if 
perplexed.  Then,  "  But  why  on  earth,"  he  asked, 
"  is  Henry  taking  all  this  sudden  interest  in  you?" 

With  a  laugh  of  enjoyment,  Vaughan  leaned  for- 
ward. "  I  knew  you'd  ask  that,  Jack,"  he  said  tri- 
umphantly. "  That's  what  I  was  leading  up  to. 
He's  interested  in  me  because  —  there's  a  very  good 
chance  that  some  day  he's  going  to  have  the  delight- 
ful pleasure  of  welcoming  me  as  his  son-in-law." 

For  an  instant  Carleton  stared  at  him ;  then  puck- 
ered his  lips  in  a  whistle  of  amazement.  "  The 
devil  you  say,"  he  ejaculated,  and  then,  after  a 
moment,  as  if  he  could  think  of  nothing  that  would 

181 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

better  do  justice  to  the  situation,  he  repeated,  with 
even  greater  emphasis,  "  The  devil  you  say." 

Vaughan  sat  silently  enjoying  his  surprise;  then, 
as  his  friend  did  not  speak  again,  he  said,  a  little 
anxiously,  "  I  hope  you're  pleased,  Jack." 

Carleton  recovered  a  little  from  his  astonishment. 
The  grip  he  gave  Vaughan's  hand  was  sufficient  an- 
swer, even  before  he  found  his  tongue.  "  Pleased," 
he  echoed,  "  of  course  I  am.  I  couldn't  be  more  so. 
You  know  that  without  my  saying  it.  But  more 
than  surprised,  Arthur.  I  didn't  know  you  were 
even  interested  in  that  direction.  I  can't  realize  it 
yet.  Rose!  Why,  she  hadn't  put  away  her  dolls 
when  I  left  home.  But  three  years.  Let's  see. 
Thirteen  —  fourteen  —  seventeen  —  that's  right, 
she's  almost  eighteen,  now.  A  child  and  a  woman 
—  I  suppose  that's  the  size  of  it.  Well,  well,  Ar- 
thur, this  is  fine.  And  she's  a  splendid  little  girl, 
too.  You're  a  lucky  man.  Any  idea  when  you'll 
be  married?  " 

Vaughan  shook  his  head.  "  No,  indeed,"  he  an- 
swered, "  I  only  wish  I  had.  You  see  it's  just  as  I 
told  you.  I'm  a  poor  man,  and  I've  got  to  make 

182 


THE  BIRCHES  AGAIN 

good  first,  before  I  can  decently  ask  her  to  leave  a 
home  like  the  one  she's  got  now.  Mr.  Cadeton  put 
all  that  part  of  it  to  me  plainly  enough  yesterday. 
Plainly  enough,  and  fairly  enough,  too.  I  have  to 
admit  that.  But  I  can't  help  wishing,  just  the 
same,  for  once  in  my  life,  that  I  did  have  a  little 
money  to  fall  back  on,  or  that  my  prospects  were  a 
little  brighter.  However,  I  surely  can't  complain; 
and  now,  Jack,  it's  your  turn.  How  about  your- 
self, and  how  about  the  ranching?  Is  it  all  you 
thought  it  would  be  ?  " 

But  Carleton  did  not  seem  disposed  to  talk  of 
himself.  "  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered  absently,  "  all 
that,  and  more.  It's  the  greatest  ever — "  then, 
breaking  off  abruptly,  he  asked,  "  Do  you  know,  Ar- 
thur, when  Colonel  Graham's  expected  back  from 
England?" 

Vaughan  looked  at  him  with  a  smile.  "  Colonel 
Graham?"  he  said,  "did  you  say  Colonel,  Jack?  " 

Carleton  nodded.  "  That's  what  I  said,"  he  an- 
swered, "  Colonel  Graham.  You  know  I  used  to 
be  pretty  good  friends  with  him  once  on  a  time." 

Vaughan's  smile  broadened.  "  Yes,  I  know,"  he 
183 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

answered  dryly,  "  and  you  used  to  be  very  good 
friends  with  some  one  else.  Are  you  sure  it  isn't 
Marjory  you  mean,  Jack,  and  not  the  colonel?  " 

At  last  Carleton  smiled  too.  "  Well,"  he  re- 
turned, "  I  won't  argue  about  it.  You  can  put  it 
that  way  if  you  like.  When  do  they  get  back?  " 

"  Three  months,  I  believe,"  answered  Vaughan, 
"  I  think  that  was  what  Rose  said."  He  paused, 
then  added  with  sympathy,  "  Sounds  like  a  long 
time,  too,  I'll  bet." 

Carleton  made  no  answer.  Slackening  speed, 
the  train  came  to  a  halt,  and  rising,  they  filed  down 
the  aisle,  and  out  on  the  Eversley  platform,  to  find 
Henry  Carleton  and  Cummings  awaiting  them. 
Somewhat  perfunctorily  Jack  Carleton  shook  hands 
with  Cummings;  then  turned  to  his  uncle.  "Wait 
for  me  just  a  minute,"  he  said,  "  I've  got  a  bag  here 
somewhere,"  and  he  strode  off  into  the  station, 
while  the  others  turned  the  corner,  and  took  their 
places  in  Carleton's  waiting  motor,  Cummings  and 
Vaughan  ushered  by  their  host  into  the  tonneau, 
while  he  himself  took  his  seat  in  front  with  the 
chauffeur,  a  short,  thick-set  young  fellow,  with 

184 


THE  BIRCHES  AGAIN 

a  round,  pleasant  face,  honest  eyes,  and  a  frank  and 
good-humored  smile.  He  touched  his  cap,  and 
Henry  Carleton  nodded  in  return.  "  Everything 
all  right,  Satterlee  ?  "  he  asked,  and  the  chauffeur 
quickly  responded,  "Yes,  sir;  everything  all  right, 
sir;" — then,  very  respectfully,  as  if  he  realized 
that  his  interest  was  leading  him  into  a  breach  of 
strict  decorum,  "  Isn't  Mr.  Jack  coming,  sir?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he'll  be  here  in  a  moment,"  answered 
his  employer,  and  even  as  he  spoke,  Carleton  ap- 
peared around  the  corner  of  the  station,  tossed  his 
bag  into  the  tonneau,  and  came  up  to  the  front  of 
the  machine  with  outstretched  hand.  "  Well,  Tom, 
old  man,"  he  cried,  "  and  how  are  you  ?  Looking 
fine.  You  couldn't  drive  anything  but  horses  when 
I  went  away.  How  do  you  like  this  kind  of  thing? 
More  speed,  I  guess,  all  right." 

The  chauffeur's  answering  smile  was  the  friend- 
liest imaginable,  although  his  taking  of  Carleton's 
outstretched  hand  was  a  little  reluctant,  as  if  he 
were  aware  that  this  was  a  freedom  hardly  likely, 
in  a  servant,  to  find  favor  in  his  master's  eyes. 
Henry  Carleton,  indeed,  frowned  with  repressed 


disapproval.  Kindness  and  even  affability  toward 
one's  dependents  were  permissible  —  but  this  frank 
friendship,  with  its  implication  of  equality,  of 
which  Jack  was  guilty,  was  apt  to  be  destructive  of 
a  proper  domestic  regime.  "  We're  waiting,  Jack," 
he  said,  his  meaning  perfectly  manifest  in  his  tone, 
"  jump  in  behind,  please." 

Jack  Carleton  was  about  to  comply;  then  sud- 
denly, either  the  beauty  of  the  day  or  his  lack  of 
pleasure  in  Jim  Cummings'  society,  served  to 
make  him  change  his  mind.  He  stepped  quickly 
back.  "  I  guess  I'll  walk  it,  after  all,"  he  said, 
"  just  for  the  sake  of  old  times.  See  you  at  the 
house,"  and  before  he  had  gone  a  quarter  of  the 
length  of  the  station  lane,  a  cloud  of  powdery  dust 
was  the  only  memento  of  the  big  motor  left  in  sight. 

Thoughtfully  he  traversed  the  familiar  path,  the 
meadow  lying  smooth  and  fair  before  him,  still 
peaceful  and  serene  as  on  the  day  when  Helmar  had 
walked  there  three  years  ago.  The  same  outward 
world,  the  same  green  underfoot,  the  same  glory  of 
blue  above.  But  though  Helmar  had  found  noth- 
ing but  pleasure  in  the  scene,  now,  mellowed  and 

186 


THE  BIRCHES  AGAIN 

tinted  with  the  oncoming  of  the  summer  night, 
Carleton's  meditation  ran  in  a  quieter  and  sadder 
strain. 

Midway  at  the  bank  of  the  little  stream,  he 
paused,  and  his  thoughts,  casting  backward,  were  ef 
the  little  boy  who  had  sailed  his  boat  in  the  pool 
below  the  bridge,  and  who  had  searched  so  patiently 
along  the  pleasant,  grass-grown  banks  to  gather  and 
bring  home  in  triumph  to  his  mother  the  earliest 
violets  of  the  spring.  Tinged  all  with  vague  re- 
gret were  his  dreamings,  as  backward  glances  in  one 
sense  always  must  be,  but  even  as  his  thoughts  came 
down  the  years,  his  face  did  not  seem  to  brighten 
with  them. 

"  Three  years,"  he  muttered,  "of  good  resolu- 
tions. Three  years  of  killing  out  old  hatred,  and 
honestly  trying  to  feel  toward  him  as  I  ought.  And 
now  —  almost  the  first  day  home  —  to  be  put  back 
just  where  I  was  before.  To  find  him  the  same  as 
ever,  so  smooth,  so  self-satisfied,  and  so  cursedly 
successful,  too,  And  if  I  told  any  one  what  I  be- 
lieve —  why,  they'd  think  I  was  mad,  I  suppose." 

Once  more  he  started  on  nis  homeward  way, 
187 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

taking  the  old  familiar  short-cut  through  the  woods, 
as  the  twilight  deepened  and  the  shadows  of  the  tall 
elms  lengthened  down  the  quiet  road.  Still  lost  in 
thought,  he  strode  along  unheeding ;  then  all  at  once, 
struck  with  a  sense  of  something  unfamiliar,  he 
pulled  up  sharply  and  glanced  about  him.  The 
path  he  was  following  now  was  new  to  him,  there 
was  something  about  it  which  he  could  not  call  to 
mind,  tax  his  memory  as  he  would.  And  then  sud- 
denly, as  he  turned  a  sharp  corner,  tucked 
away  amid  the  shelter  of  a  grove  of  birches  which 
rose  about  it  on  every  hand,  a  little  cottage  appeared 
before  his  eyes. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  silent,  staring  in  astonish- 
ment. Of  this  Henry  had  told  him  nothing. 
The  Birches  itself  was  still  a  good  half  mile 
away.  "  What  in  the  world  — "  he  muttered  to 
himself,  and  then,  obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  he 
turned  aside,  walked  quickly  up  the  path  to  the  little 
house,  mounted  the  steps  leading  to  the  porch,  and 
knocked. 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  waited.  Then 
188 


THE  BIRCHES  AGAIN 

somewhere  above  him,  a  window  opened;  a 
woman's  voice  called  low,  "  Is  it  you  ?  " 

At  the  sound  Carleton  threw  back  his  head  with 
an  uncontrollable  start  of  astonishment;  and  then 
without  raising  his  voice,  he  answered,  "  Yes,  it's  I." 

The  window  closed.  A  moment  still  he  waited 
in  suspense,  until  the  door  cautiously  opened.  And 
then,  suddenly,  through  the  dusk  there  sounded  a 
surprised  cry,  "  Jack,  Jack !  " 

Carleton  took  a  quick  step  forward.  Three  long 
years,  as  far  as  seeing  women  of  any  attraction 
went,  he  had  spent  practically  alone.  Three  long 
years,  and  in  the  girl  before  him  what  a  change. 
Charming  she  had  always  been,  yet  now  in  looks, 
in  dress,  in  bearing,  in  every  way  she  had  altered 
for  the  better  a  hundredfold.  Almost  with  a  gasp, 
the  memories  of  old  days  came  flooding  over  heart 
and  mind  and  soul.  His  voice,  when  at  last  he 
spoke,  sounded  hoarse  with  stifled  emotion; 
"Jeanne,"  he  cried,  "you!" 

As  of  old,  the  woman  seemed  to  dominate  the 
situation.  She  laughed  the  old  friendly  laugh  as 

189 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

she  stepped  backward  into  the  gloom.  Her  words 
were  commonplace  enough,  but  not  the  tone  in 
which  she  uttered  them.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you 
back,  Jack,"  she  said.  "  Won't  you  come  in  ?  " 


190 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

"  What  mighty  ills  have  not  been  done  by  \w>man !  " 

Otway. 

IT  was  nearly  seven  o'clock  when  Jack  Carleton 
strolled  into  the  carriage  house,  to  find  Satter- 
lee,  sleeves  rolled  up,  his  big  rubber  apron  tied 
around  his  waist,  busy  washing  the  carriages. 
Leisurely  Carleton  took  his  seat  upon  an  inverted 
bucket,  and  lit  a  cigarette.  "  So  you  use  a  horse 
now  and  then,  too,  do  you,  Tom?"  he  asked,  "it 
isn't  all  automobiles?" 

Satterlee  grinned  a  little  ruefully.  "  To  speak 
true,  Mr.  Jack,"  he  answered,  "  we  gets  a  lot  of 
trouble  out  of  that  there  machine.  The  gentlemen 
walked  the  last  quarter  mile  to-night,  and  she's  out 
there  in  the  road  yet.  You  see,  we  got  a  new  uni- 
versal joint  — " 

Carleton  raised  his  hand.  "  No,  no,"  he  cried, 
191 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

"  you  don't  get  me  to  listen  to  any  of  those  yarns. 
I  don't  know  anything  about  motors,  and  I  don't 
want  to.  A  horse  is  good  enough  for  me.  It  isn't 
your  automobile  troubles  I  want  to  hear  about,  Tom. 
It's  your  own,  if  you've  got  any,  only  I  don't  be- 
lieve you  have.  As  near  as  I  can  make  out,  you're 
an  infernally  lucky  man." 

The  chauffeur  nodded.  "  I  am  that,  sir,"  he  an- 
swered, readily  enough.  "  No  man  could  have  had 
better  luck,  or  more  of  it,  than  I've  had  the  last 
year.  It  seems  sometimes  to  me,  Mr.  Jack,  like  it 
couldn't  really  be  so.  It's  been  most  too  much  for 
one  man." 

Jack  nodded.  "  It  was  all  a  surprise  to  me,"  he 
said.  "  Mr.  Carleton  never  told  me  he'd  built  you 
the  house;  I  didn't  even  know  you  were  married. 
I  wouldn't  know  it  now  if  I  hadn't  happened  to  stop 
in  there  on  the  way  up  from  the  train.  I  only  did 
it  out  of  curiosity,  too.  I  wondered  who  on  earth 
had  built  that  house,  so  near  the  big  one." 

Satterlee's  face  lit  up  with  pleasure.  "  I'm  more 
than  glad  you  did,  sir,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  neat  little 

192 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

place,  if  I  am  saying  so.     And  you  were  after  see- 
ing the  Mrs.,  I  suppose?  " 

Jack  nodded  again.  "  Yes,  indeed  I  did.  She's 
prettier  than  ever,  Tom.  And  she  was  telling  me 
all  about  the  house.  So  Mr.  Carleton  built  it  for 
you." 

Satterlee  pushed  the  wagon  back  into  place,  re- 
moved his  apron,  and  took  his  stand  in  front  of 
Carleton.  "  Yes,  sir,"  he  answered,  "  you  see,  it 
was  like  this.  I  always  liked  Jeanne  fine  —  no  one 
could  help  it,  she's  got  that  way  with  her  —  but  I 
always  thought  as  how  she  was  more  than  a  cut 
above  me,  being,  as  you  might  say,  a  lady,  almost. 
And  she  never'd  have  much  to  say  to  me,  either,  ex- 
cepting to  pass  the  time  of  day,  and  such  like  things, 
you  know,  just  friendly  like,  and  nothing  more. 
But  about  a  year  ago,  of  a  sudden  she  began  to 
seem  to  take  more  notice  of  me,  and  at  last,  never 
dreaming  I  was  doing  anything  more  than  settle 
all  my  hopes  of  ever  getting  her,  once  and  for  all, 
I  got  that  crazy  about  her  I  up  and  asked  her- 
and  she  said  she  would.  And  then  I  didn't  know 

193 


what  to  do.  I  wanted  to  go  to  housekeeping,  of 
course ;  I  knew  where  I  could  rent  a  tidy  little  house 
down  in  the  village,  but  I  was  feared  of  losing  my 
job,  if  Mr.  Carleton  shouldn't  seem  to  take  kindly 
to  the  idea  of  it. 

"  Well,  at  last  I  told  him,  and  he  seemed  pleased 
enough,  and  asked  me  about  my  plans,  and  so  on, 
and  finally  he  said  he'd  like  to  think  it  over  for 
a  while.  So  I  said  all  right,  of  course,  and  one 
evening  he  came  down  here,  and  talked  a  long 
time,  about  how  fine  a  thing  it  was  to  be  married 
—  he  spoke  something  beautiful  about  his  poor 
dear  lady  —  and  said  as  how  that  I'd  always  done 
my  work  right,  and  been  a  faithful  man  to  him, 
and  as  how  he  knew  Jeanne  was  a  fine  girl,  and 
so  on,  and  finally  that  he'd  hate  to  have  me  leave 
him  —  I  got  scared  then  —  but  he  didn't  want  me 
so  far  away  as  the  village,  and  so,  if  I'd  like  it, 
partly  for  me,  and  partly  for  a  good  example  to 
the  rest  of  the  house,  he'd  build  me  a  cottage  right 
here  on  tlie  place,  and  set  me  up  to  housekeeping 
there.  And  that  he  did,  and  you've  seen  the  cot- 
tage for  yourself,  so  there's  no  need  of  my  saying 

194 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

what  a  neat  little  place  it  is,  or  how  happy  we  are. 
I  like  it  fine,  and  Jeanne  even  more  than  me,  I  be- 
lieve; you  know  what  it  is  for  a  woman  to  have 
her  own  home  to  fuss  round  with;  flowers  and 
a  vegetable  garden,  and  all  such  things.  We 
couldn't  be  better  fixed  in  all  the  wide  world." 

Carleton  slowly  nodded.  "  Well,  I  should  say 
not,"  he  said  at  length.  "  And  about  the  money, 
too.  Jeanne  was  telling  me  of  that." 

Satterlee's  face  brightened.  "  Wasn't  that  the 
greatest  ever?"  he  said.  "I  never  knew  she  had 
relatives  so  well  fixed  as  that;  I  guess  she  didn't, 
either;  but  Mr.  Carleton  looked  after  all  the  law 
part  of  it  for  her,  and  it  seems  she  gets  a  steady 
income  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  Not  so  much,  of 
course,  for  some  folks,  but  -for  her,  you  see,  it's 
just  pin  money,  to  do  as  she  likes  with.  Of  course 
I'd  never  touch  a  cent  of  it;  I'm  doing  pretty  well 
myself,  and  I  live  simple,  anyway;  but  she  likes 
her  fine  clothes,  and  her  trip  in  town,  same  as  all 
the  women  do,  and  I'm  glad  to  let  her  have  the  fun. 
Sometimes  I  get  let  off,  too,  but  I  don't  like  to  go 
often;  there's  plenty  doing  here  with  six  horses, 

195 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

and  that  rascal  of  a  car.  And  this  summer  she's 
going  off  for  two  months  to  the  mountains  with 
some  friends  of  hers.  You  see,  the  work  gets 
slacker  then;  Mr.  Carleton  always  goes  away  about 
that  time,  and  it's  pretty  hot  here,  of  course,  for  a 
woman,  anyway.  Yes,  Jeanne's  quite  the  lady  now, 
and  no  one  more  glad  than  me." 

Carleton,  again  nodding  thoughtfully,  sat  for 
some  time  in  silence  without  looking  up.  At  last 
he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  chauffeur's.  "  Tom,"  he 
said,  speaking  with  unwonted  gravity,  "  I'd  like  to 
ask  you  one  question.  What  do  you  really 
think — "  Abruptly  he  broke  off.'  "Well,  speak- 
ing of  angels,"  he  muttered,  and  again  was  silent. 

Down  the  drive  Henry  Carleton  was  walking 
briskly  toward  them,  with  a  step  that  a  youth  of 
twenty  might  have  envied.  As  he  entered  the  car- 
riage house,  he  eyed  the  pair  a  trifle  keenly,  it 
seemed,  yet  when  he  spoke  his  tone  was  amiability 
itself.  "Ah,  Jack,"  he  said,  "I  wondered  where 
you'd  gone.  Talking  over  old  times  with  Satterlee, 
I  suppose.  We  dine  at  seven,  you  know." 

196 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

Carelessly  Jack  Carleton  answered  him.  "  Yes,, 
I  know.  I'll  be  ready.  Lots  of  time  yet." 

There  was  nothing  in  the  words  at  which  offense 
could  be  taken,  yet  at  the  tone  Henry  Carleton' s 
eyebrows  were  raised  a  trifle.  "  Suit  yourself,"  he 
said,  "  as  long  as  you're  not  late,"  then  turning  to 
the  chauffeur.  "  It's  unfortunate  about  the  motor, 
isn't  it,  Satterlee?  I  understand  you  to  say  that 
you  can't  possibly  have  it  fixed  before  to-morrow 
night?" 

Satterlee  shook  his  head.  "  Oh,  no,  sir,  not  pos- 
sibly," he  answered.  "  I  shall  have  to  go  in  town 
to-morrow  morning,  and  see  them  at  the  factory. 
And  then  there's  a  good  half  day,  just  on  labor 
alone.  No,  sir,  to-morrow  night  would  be  the  very 
earliest  possible." 

Henry  Carleton' s  face  clouded  a  trifle,  and  for  a 
moment  he  thought  in  silence.  Then  he  spoke,  with 
a  little  reluctance  evident  in  his  manner.  "  I  don't 
like  to~ask  you  to  do  it,  Satterlee,  but  I  can't  see 
any  other  way.  I've  promised  to  send  a  message 
over  to  Mr.  Sheldon  to-night,  a  message  which  is. 

197 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

of  great  importance  to  both  of  us.  I  was  going  to 
ask  you  to  take  the  motor,  and  go  over  after  din- 
ner—  it  wouldn't  have  taken  much  over  an  hour, 
I  suppose  —  but  that's  out  of  the  question  now. 
Do  you  think,  Satterlee,  you  could  oblige  me  by 
taking  one  of  the  horses,  and  driving  over.  It  will 
be  something  of  a  trip,  I'm  afraid." 

Satterlee's  assent  could  hardly  have  been  readier, 
or  more  heartily  given.  "Of  course  I'll  go,  sir," 
he  answered,  "  and  be  more  than  glad  to.  It's  not 
too  long  a  drive,  sir.  The  night's  fine.  Let  me 
see.  Twelve  miles  over.  Twelve  miles  back.  I 
could  take  old  Robin,  sir,  and  make  it  in  a  matter 
of  three  hours,  or  I  could  take  Fleetwood,  in  the 
sulky,  and  make  it  in  pretty  near  an  hour  quicker, 
if  there's  haste." 

Henry  Carleton  shook  his  head.  "  Oh,  no, 
there's  no  special  hurry,"  he  answered,  "  and  I 
wouldn't  take  Fleetwood,  I  think.  I  want  to  save 
him  for  Mr.  Jack  to  drive  to-morrow.  No,  I  think 
I'd  take  old  Robin.  And  I  suppose  you  could  get 
started  by  eight.  If  you'll  stop  at  the  house,  then, 

198 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

Satterlee,  I'll  have  everything  ready,  and  I'm  sure 
I'm  much  obliged  to  you.  I  won't  forget  it." 

Satterlee's  face  showed  his  pleasure.  There  was 
a  thought  fulness  and  consideration  in  his  master's 
manner  unusual  and  agreeable.  "  You're  more 
than  welcome,  I'm  sure,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I'll  be 
ready  sharp  at  eight." 

Jack  Carleton  had  stood  silent,  with  knitted 
brows.  Now  he  looked  up  quickly,  gazing  at  Henry 
Carleton  with  a  singular  intentness,  considering  the 
comparative  unimportance  of  the  matter  involved. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  telephoning?  "  he  asked 
abruptly,  well-nigh  rudely,  in  fact. 

Henry  Carleton  smiled  at  him  benignantly  itt  re- 
turn. "  You  always  were  fond  of  old  Robin, 
weren't  you,  Jack?  "  he  said.  "  Well,  I  hate  myself 
to  use  a  horse  on  a  drive  as  long  as  that,  and  I  hate 
to  use  Satterlee  so  late  at  night,  besides.  But  these 
happen  to  be  a  set  of  plans,  Jack,  and  you  know 
to  telephone  plans  is  rather  a  difficult  thing;  and, 
since  you've  been  so  good  as  to  interest  yourself  in 
the  matter,  I'll  tell  you  further  that  they're  street 

199 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

railway  plans,  of  very  great  importance,  consider- 
ing the  fact  that  Sheldon  is  my  counsel  before  a 
committee  of  the  legislature  to-morrow  morning. 
After  all,"  he  added  more  slowly,  "  it  is  a  prac- 
tical world,  Jack.  Some  one  has  to  look  after 
things,  even  if  it  involves  an  evening  trip,  a  horse 
and  a  man.  But  I  suppose  it's  hard  for  you  to  get 
used  to  it.  Yours  never  was  the  strictly  practical 
side." 

The  tone  was  of  kindly  benevolence.  That  there 
was  a  deliberate  purpose  behind  the  words  was  evi- 
dent. Jack  Carleton's  face  gave  no  sign,  save  that 
all  at  once  his  eyes  seemed  suddenly  to  have  turned 
hard  and  cold.  "  I  see  perfectly  now,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Pardon  my  suggestion,  won't  you  ?  I 
didn't  know  the  drive  was  connected  with  any  plans, 
or  of  course  I  shouldn't  have  spoken.  Well,  I  guess 
I'll  go  ahead  and  dress  for  dinner  now." 

He  turned  with  elaborate  nonchalance,  almost 
feeling  Henry  Carleton's  searching  glance  follow 
him;  and  once,  half  way  up  the  drive,  he  chuckled 
to  himself,  as  if  in  his  mind  he  felt  perfectly  satis- 
fied with  the  result  of  the  little  encounter  of  words. 

200 


"I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  1  am." — Page  201 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

As  he  mounted  the  piazza,  steps,  from  the  cosy 
corner  hidden  far  back  among  the  ivy,  Rose  Carle- 
ton  and  Vaughan  advanced  a  little  consciously  to 
meet  him.  Very  possibly,  from  a  certain  tumbled 
look  about  her  pretty  curls  and  a  flush  in  her  cheeks 
suspiciously  bright,  he  felt  that  he  might  have  done 
well  to  enter  the  house  from  the  side  door.  Yet, 
if  he  had  proved  an  interrupter,  she  readily  enough 
forgave  him,  coming  forward  with  hands  out- 
stretched, and  kissing  him  affectionately,  first  on 
one  cheek  and  then  on  the  other.  "  Well,  cousin 
Jack,"  she  cried,  "  it's  seemed  so  long.  Welcome 
home  again;  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am." 

He  held  her  off  at  arm's  length,  looking  at  her 
with  real  affection  in  his  glance,  yet  quizzically. 
"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  those  are  very  nice  kisses. 
You  weren't  as  skilful  as  that  when  I  left.  But 
practice,  I  suppose,  will  do  a  lot  for  any  one." 

Rose  Carleton's  face  flushed,  but  not  at  all  with 
anger.  She  held  up  an  admonishing  finger. 
"  Why,"  she  cried,  "  I  am  surprised  at  you.  Even 
to  hint  at  such  a  thing,"  and  then  suddenly  shifting 
the  attack,  "  And  what's  made  you  such  a  judge  of 

20 1 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

kisses,  anyway?  Were  they,  experts  out  where 
you've  been.  I  think  you  ought  to  explain,  at 
least." 

Carleton  laughed.  "  Never  mind,  never  mind," 
he  said,  "  we'll  change  the  subject  at  once ;  I'm  get- 
ting embarrassed;  but  seriously,  my  dear,  I  wish 
you  two  people  all  the  luck  in  the  world.  Noth- 
ing could  please  me  better;  you  can  be  sure 
of  that.  But  I'm  not  going  to  stay  here  and  say 
nice  things  about  you;  I'll  warrant  you  do  enough 
of  that  yourselves  to  make  you  as  proud  as  pea- 
cocks. And  if  I  don't  get  ready  for  dinner,  Henry'll 
give  me  a  calling  down;  I  know  that  much  from 
old  times,"  and  with  a  friendly  wave  of  his  hand 
by  way  of  parting  benediction,  he  took  his  de- 
parture for  his  room. 

To  an  outsider,  it  might  have  seemed  that  the 
company  assembled  for  dinner  was  a  somewhat  curi- 
ously assorted  one;  yet  the  dinner  itself,  thanks  to 
the  efforts  of  the  dark,  observant  man  who  pre- 
sided at  the  head  of  the  table,  could  hardly  have 
been  more  successful.  Tact  —  always  tact  —  and 

202 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

in  little  things  even  more  than  in  great,  this  was 
the  feature  that  distinguished  Henry  Carleton' s  dis- 
charge of  his  duties  as  host.  And  once  well  under 
way,  there  was  little  reason,  indeed,  why  the  occa- 
sion should  not  have  been  a  success.  The  meal 
was  one  for  an  epicure,  deliciously  cooked  and  fault- 
lessly served,  and  with  a  quality  and  variety  in  the 
liquids  which  accompanied  it,  sufficient  to  satisfy 
even  Cummings  himself.  Fortunate,  indeed,  it 
seemed,  that  Jack  Carleton  took  nothing  at  all,  and 
that  Henry  Carleton  and  Vaughan  drank  sparingly, 
for  Cummings'  capacity  was  frankly  enormous. 
Constantly  his  red  face  grew  redder  and  redder, 
and  his  conversation  became  every  moment  more 
and  more  monopolistic;  yet  Henry  Carleton,  with 
the  courtesy  of  the  host,  seemed  to  pay  no  heed, 
and  if  there  was  any  conflict  between  the  laws  of 
temperance  and  those  of  hospitality,  the  star  of  the 
latter  seemed  to  be  in  the  ascendant,  for  the  butler 
was  even  more  than  assiduous  in  his  attentions,  and 
took  good  care  that  the  bottom  of  Cummings'  glass 
was  never  visible  from  the  beginning  of  the  dinner 
until  the  end. 

203 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

A  little  late  in  beginning,  it  was  doubtless  due  to 
Cummings'  frank  enjoyment  of  his  food  and  drink, 
and  his  innocent  delight  in  recounting  at  length  an- 
ecdote after  anecdote  of  which  he  was  invariably 
the  hero,  that  the  dinner  came  to  an  end  far  later 
than  Henry  Carleton  had  anticipated.  It  was  fully 
half-past  eight,  indeed,  before  he  had  the  oppor- 
tunity to  slip  out  on  the  piazza,  where  Satterlee  sat 
patiently  waiting,  with  old  Robin  dozing  peacefully 
between  the  shafts.  "  I'm  sorry,  Satterlee,"  he 
said,  as  he  handed  over  the  parcel ;  "  I  didn't  mean 
to  keep  you  waiting  so  long.  I'm  afraid  it's  going 
to  be  pretty  late  before  you  get  back." 

Satterlee  gathered  up  the  reins.  "  Close  to  mid- 
night, I  expect,  sir,"  he  answered  cheerfully, 
"  maybe  later,  if  the  old  fellow  doesn't  happen  to 
be  feeling  very  brisk.  But  what's  the  odds?  The 
night's  fine,  and  there'll  be  a  moon  later  on.  It's 
no  difference  to  me.  Good  night,  sir.  I'll  be  ready 
for  the  eight-two,  in  the  morning,"  and  he  jogged 
leisurely  away  down  the  avenue. 

The  rest  of  the  party,  in  the  meantime,  had  joined 
their  host  on  the  piazza.  Almost  imperceptibly 

204 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

Rose  and  Vaughan  seemed  to  be  again  gravitating 
in  the  direction  of  the  sheltered  corner.  Jack  Carle- 
ton,  observing  them,  smiled  to  himself;  then  turned 
to  his  host.  "If  you'll  excuse  me,  Henry,"  he 
said,  "  I  believe  I'll  go  up  to  my  room,  smoke  a  pipe 
and  turn  in.  I've  been  awfully  short  of  sleep  since 
I  got  back." 

Henry  Carleton,  the  hospitable,  with  the  greatest 
readiness  assented.  "  Why,  of  course,  Jack,  don't 
talk  of  my  excusing  you.  No  such  ceremony  as 
that  out  here.  Turn  in,  and  sleep  the  clock  around, 
if  you  want  to.  Come  on,  Cummings.  You  and 
I  will  have  a  little  game  of  billiards,  if  that'll  suit 
you." 

"Suit  me?"  echoed  Cummings  expansively, 
"  well,  I  guess  yes.  Surest  thing  you  know." 
This,  he  reflected  to  himself,  was  certainly  going 
some.  This  was  being  treated  better  than  ever  be- 
fore. A  bang-up  dinner ;  all  the  fizz  he  wanted  — 
that,  from  Cummings,  meant  much  —  and  now  a 
game  of  billiards  with  the  old  man.  And  billiards 
was  his  particular  long  suit.  No  wonder  that  he 
was  perfectly  happy.  Scarcely,  it  seemed  to  him, 

205 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

could  he  wait  until  the  next  morning,  to  see  the 
other  fellows  in  the  office,  and  recount  all  his  good 
fortune  to  their  well-nigh  unbelieving  ears. 
"  Surest  thing  you  know,"  he  repeated  again,  "  just 
what  I'd  like  to  do." 

Left  alone,  Rose  Carleton  and  Vaughan  retreated 
under  the  shadow  of  the  vines.  For  a  little  while,  in- 
deed, with  a  self-restraint  most  commendable,  their 
talk  was  not  wholly  of  themselves.  A  few  words 
they  had  to  say  about  Jack;  a  few,  with  bated 
breath,  concerning  Cummings  and  his  peculiarities; 
a  brief  account  Vaughan  gave  of  his  wholly  pleas- 
ant and  successful  interview  with  Henry  Carleton, 
and  then,  in  spite  of  themselves,  their  talk  swung 
around  into  the  path  of  that  endless  circle  which 
engrosses  so  absolutely  the  attention  of  those  happy 
persons  but  newly  engaged,  and  soon,  all  uncon- 
sciously, they  had  drifted  away  into  the  realms  of 
the  small  but  all-sufficing  world  which  can  never 
be  inhabited  by  more  than  two. 

Meanwhile,  up-stairs  in  the  billiard  room  Jim 
Cummings  was  enjoying  himself  always  more  and 
more.  The  table  was  perfect;  the  cigar  from  the 

206 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

box  which  Henry  Carleton  had  carelessly  shoved 
toward  him  he  had  appraised  with  a  critical  eye, 
and  instantly  classified  as  a  twenty-five-cent  straight ; 
at  his  elbow,  on  the  neat  little  sideboard,  were 
liqueurs,  and  Scotch  and  soda.  Only  a  victory  at 
the  game  was  needed  to  make  for  Cummings  a 
perfect  world,  and  that  finally  was  also  forthcom- 
ing. Not  easily,  indeed ;  old  Carleton,  to  his  infinite 
surprise,  played  a  most  surprising  game,  marred 
only  by  a  tendency  to  slip  up  on  easy  shots  after  he 
had  made  a  run  of  those  which  almost  any  amateur 
in  the  city  might  have  envied.  The  first  game  went 
to  Cummings,  the  second  to  his  host,  the  third  and 
rubber  at  last,  after  the  closest  of  finishes,  to  Cum- 
mings again.  And  then,  pulling  their  chairs  up  to 
the  little  table,  they  sat  for  perhaps  half  an  hour 
and  talked.  Cummings,  indeed,  seemed  to  be  the 
leader  as  far  as  number  of  words  went;  Carleton 
apparently  doing  little  more  than  to  make  a  sug- 
gestion here,  propound  a  difficulty  there,  and  then 
finally  to  allow  himself  to  be  assured  by  Cummings' 
lordly  manner  of  overcoming  every  obstacle  in  the 
path.  At  last  they  rose;  the  lights  in  the  billiard 

207 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

room  were  extinguished,  and  Carleton  left  his  guest 
at  the  door  of  the  bedroom  allotted  to  him.  "  So  I 
think,"  he  said,  laying  a  friendly  hand  on  Cum- 
mings' arm,  "  that,  as  between  two  men  of  the 
world,  we  may  fairly  say  that  we  perfectly  under- 
stand each  other." 

Cummings'  speech  was  a  trifle  thick,  something 
scarcely  to  be  wondered  at,  but  his  step  was  steady, 
and  his  brain  clear.  "  Perfe'ly,"  he  responded. 
"  No  misund'standing  at  all.  Perfe'ly,  I'm  sure." 

Henry  Carleton  looked  at  him  sharply.  He  was 
well  aware  of  the  quantity  of  liquor  his  guest  had 
somehow  managed  to  put  away.  "  And  just  one 
thing,"  he  added,  "  you  won't  forget  that  it's  got 
to  be  done  quietly.  That's  the  important  thing. 
You  can't  be  too  careful.  It's  a  most  delicate  mis- 
sion. That,  Jim,"  he  added  in  a  burst  of  confi- 
dence, "  is  why  I  selected  you." 

Cummings'  immediate  expansion  was  visible  to 
the  eye.  "  I  'predate  your  choice,"  he  responded 
handsomely,  "  and  I  un'erstand  just  how  you  want 
it  done.  'S  that  enough,  or  d'you  want  talk  some 
more  ?  " 

208 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

Henry  Carleton  whipped  out  his  watch.  "  No, 
no,"  he  answered  hastily,  "  it's  late  now,  Jim. 
Later  than  I  thought.  We  understand  each  other, 
of  course.  Do  your  best,  that's  all.  And,  Jim," 
he  added,  with  a  curious  note,  almost,  one  would 
have  said,  of  entreaty,  in  his  tone,  "  you  under- 
stand my  motives  perfectly,  don't  you?  You  see 
my  reasoning?  You're  convinced  that  I'm  acting 
for  the  best?" 

Singular  enough  it  was  to  see  the  great  financier 
verging  on  an  appeal  to  a  man  in  every  way  so  far 
his  inferior.  Cummings,  even  in  his  slightly  be- 
fuddled condition,  seemed  to  appreciate  the  honor 
conferred.  "Mr.  Carleton,"  he  answered,  "I  un'- 
erstand  'ntirely.  Your  motives  irreproachable;  no 
one  say  otherwise,  by  possibility." 

Henry  Carleton  looked  his  relief.  "  Good,"  he 
said  briefly.  "  I  shouldn't  proceed  without  your 
approval  of  the  plan.  And  you  will  bear  in  mind 
the  need  of  haste,  I  know." 

It  was  five  minutes  later  that  he  rejoined  his 
daughter  and  Vaughan  upon  the  piazza,  with  his 
usual  thought  fulness  emerging  slowly  from  the 

209 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

house,  and  clearing  his  throat  somewhat  ostenta- 
tiously several  times  by  way  of  fair  and  friendly 
warning.  It  may  have  been  that  this  signal  was 
needed,  it  may  have  been  that  it  was  not;  in  any 
event,  when  Henry  Carleton  had  actually  reached 
the  cosy  corner,  it  was  to  find  Rose  and  Vaughan 
seated  decorously  enough  some  distance  apart,  al- 
though for  the  moment,  indeed,  conversation  be- 
tween the  two  appeared  to  have  come  completely  to 
a  standstill. 

Henry  Carleton  eyed  them  benevolently.  "  A 
beautiful  night,"  he  observed  impartially,  and  then, 
more  especially  addressing  himself  to  Rose,  "  Did 
you  know  that  it  was  after  half-past  ten,  my  dear. 
Early  to  bed,  you  know." 

In  the  darkness  Rose  Carleton  frowned  impa- 
tiently. Yes,  she  knew.  That  she  should  retire 
early  was  one  point  on  which  her  father  insisted 
with  a  strictness  that  made  it  hopeless  to  contest 
the  point  with  him.  "  Early  to  bed."  She  felt  a  huge 
dislike  for  the  worthy  originator  of  the  phrase. 
Even  the  soundest  and  sanest  of  maxims,  without 
the  occasional  exception  which  proves  the  rule, 

210 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

may  come  to  mean  next  to  nothing.  "  Yes,  I  know 
it,"  she  answered  shortly,  with  just  a  trace  of  irri- 
tated rebellion  in  her  tone.  Eighteen  does  not  rel- 
ish being  treated  like  twelve. 

Her  father  noted  the  tone.  "  Well,  good  night, 
my  dear,"  he  observed  evenly.  "  Say  good  night 
to  Mr.  Vaughan,  and  don't  forget  to  be  up  in  good 
season  to-morrow.  We  shall  be  a  little  hurried 
without  the  motor.  You  must  have  our  coffee 
ready  for  us  sharp  on  time."  Then,  a  pause  ensu- 
ing, without  any  move  seeming  to  come  from  Rose, 
he  added  persuasively,  "  I  trust  you  and  Mr. 
Vaughan  have  enjoyed  your  evening  together,  my 
dear." 

There  was  a  hint  of  mild  reproach  in  his  tone, 
and  at  the  words  forthwith  the  girl  relented.  It 
was  true  enough.  He  had  been  considerate  to  allow 
her  to  have  Vaughan  to  herself  for  the  evening. 
It  would  have  been  easy  to  have  managed  things 
otherwise.  He  was  a  pretty  good  father,  after  all. 
So  obediently  she  rose  and  gave  her  hand  to 
Vaughan,  with  just  sufficient  pressure  to  let  him  un- 
derstand that  had  the  occasion  served,  her  good 

211 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

night  \vould  have  been  a  very  different  one,  kissed 
her  father,  and  went  quietly  up-stairs. 

Left  alone,  Vaughan  turned  to  Henry  Carleton. 

"  Cummings  turned  in?  "  he  asked  casually. 

Carleton  nodded.  "  Yes,  he's  turned  in,  I  be- 
lieve," he  answered;  then,  with  the  hospitality  for 
which  he  was  famous,  he  added,  "  Is  there  anything 
more  that  I  may  chance  to  be  able  to  do  for  your 
entertainment,  Mr.  Vaughan?" 

Vaughan  shook  his  head.  "  Oh,  thanks,  no,"  he 
answered,  "  I'm  ready  for  bed  myself,  I  believe." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Carleton  quickly,  "  then  I 
think,  in  that  case,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  take 
my  little  turn  about  the  grounds  and  retire  myself. 
If  you  should  care  for  a  pipe  on  the  piazza,  the 
house  is  always  open.  We  don't  lock  up  here  at 
all.  I  always  say,  if  a  burglar  is  going  to  try  to 
break  into  a  country  house,  that's  all  windows  and 
doors,  a  key  turned  in  the  lock  isn't  going  to  stop 
him.  So  you  can  get  in  at  any  time  between  now 
and  morning." 

Vaughan  laughed.  "  Thanks,"  he  answered, 
"  that's  genuine  kindness,  but  I  don't  think  I  shall 

212 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

take  advantage  of  it.  A  bed  seems  more  attractive 
to  me  just  now  than  a  pipe  even." 

"  Suit  yourself,"  answered  Carleton,  "  I'll  have 
my  man  call  you  in  the  morning.  Good  night." 

He  turned  indoors  as  he  spoke,  and  Vaughan 
stood  silent  for  perhaps  five  minutes,  looking  out 
into  the  glorious  summer  night,  with  his  thoughts 
where  they  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  be  — 
on  the  wonderment  of  all  the  happiness  that  had 
come  to  him,  on  the  difference  that  the  love  of  a 
girl  had  made  in  him,  his  ambitions,  his  hopes,  of 
all  the  great  things  that  he  longed  to  accomplish  now 
for  her  sake,  to  show  her  that  perhaps  she  had  not 
chosen  unworthily. 

Then,  coming  suddenly  to  himself,  he  decided 
that  it  would  be  pleasant  to  accompany  Carleton  on 
his  rounds,  looked  indoors  for  him,  and  not  finding 
him  there,  concluded  that  he  must  have  gone  out  by 
some  other  way.  Coming  out  once  more  on  to  the 
piazza.,  he  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  had  even 
made  a  hesitating  step  toward  the  house  again,  and 
then,  summoned  irresistibly  by  some  subtle  kinship 
with  tree  and  flower,  star  and  whispering  breeze, 

213 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

he  walked  hastily  down  the  steps,  and  then,  more 
leisurely,  strolled  away  around  the  curve  of  the 
drive  until  his  figure  was  lost  amid  the  shrubbery 
of  the  lawn. 

Surely  Henry  Carleton's  little  evening  had  been 
enjoyed  to  the  full  by  every  one.  And,  as  it  chanced, 
even  the  humblest  actor  in  it  was  to  have  his  share 
of  luck.  Tom  Satterlee,  with  some  two  thirds  of 
his  journey  to  Mr.  Sheldon's  accomplished,  sud- 
denly gripped  the  reins  more  tightly  as  a  warning 
blast  fell  on  his  ears,  and  a  moment  later  a  big 
motor  whizzed  past  him  from  the  rear.  Instantly 
he  recognized  the  chauffeur,  driving  alone,  and  the 
next  moment  his  cheerful  hail  had  brought  the 
motor  to  a  halt.  Then  ensued  a  brief  conference, 
resulting  in  the  transfer  of  the  package,  while 
Satterlee,  with  a  good  hour  saved  from  the  schedule 
that  was  to  bring  him  back  at  midnight,  in  high 
good  humor  turned  old  Robin's  head  toward  home. 

Meanwhile,  back  at  The  Birches,  Vaughan  wan- 
dered idly  along,  his  feet  on  earth,  his  thoughts 
in  the  clouds.  Rose  and  his  book.  His  book  and 
Rose.  From  one  to  the  other  his  thoughts  plied 

214 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

back  and  forth.  Not,  indeed,  that  the  book  could 
ever  rival  Rose,  but  it  was  as  a  means  to  win  her 
that  it  now  appeared  most  precious  to  him,  as  if 
his  written  word,  as  something  outside  of  himself, 
were  striving,  like  some  faithful  friend,  to  aid  him 
in  his  fight  —  and  Rose  and  the  book  and  his  happi- 
ness blended  in  his  mind  with  all  the  intoxication 
of  youth  and  hope,  and  a  world  still  untried  and 
unconquered,  its  problems  undespaired  of  still. 

On  and  on  he  walked,  half  unconscious  of  where 
he  was  going,  and  then,  on  a  sudden  he  seemed  to 
become  aware  of  a  light  flashing  somewhere  ahead 
of  him  through  the  trees,  now  disappearing,  now, 
as  he  went  onward,  springing  again  into  view, 
much  as  some  gigantic  will-o'-the-wisp  might  have 
done.  And  at  the  same  instant,  looking  around 
him,  he  perceived,  to  his  surprise,  that  unconsciously 
he  had  been  following  the  trail  of  a  little  rough 
hewn  path,  winding  first  to  right,  and  then  to  left, 
but  always  forward,  and  always  toward  the  light. 
Partly  from  a  real  curiosity  as  to  what  it  might  be, 
partly  with  enough  of  the  instinct  of  boyhood  days 
left  in  him,  to  make  him  feel  a  perfectly  irrational 

215 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

•delight  in  the  sense  of  nocturnal  adventure,  he 
skirted  his  way  along  through  the  woods,  and  a 
moment  later  found  himself  standing  on  a  little 
elevation  of  rock,  gazing  through  the  trees  at  the 
house  which  stood  over  across  from  him,  not  a 
hundred  yards  away,  amid  the  circle  of  birches 
which,  gleaming  like  silver  in  the  faint  moonlight, 
surrounded  it  with  their  protection  as  with  a  natural 
palisade. 

Something  singular  there  seemed  to  him  about 
the  whole  affair.  The  cottage  he  could  not  place; 
and  idly  he  began  to  wonder  whether,  intent  upon 
his  day-dreams,  he  had  wandered  farther  than  he 
had  intended,  and  had  crossed  the  boundaries  of 
The  Birches  to  trespass  on  some  neighboring  do- 
main. His  vivid  imagination  had  even  begun  to 
weave  a  web  of  vague,  elusive  romance  about  the 
cottage  itself,  based  partly,  perhaps,  on  the  spell 
of  the  moonlight,  partly  on  the  fact  that  despite 
the  lateness  of  the  hour  a  light  still  gleamed  in  the 
tipper,  and  one  in  the  lower,  hall.  And  then,  with  a 
realizing  rush  of  sober  common  sense,  with  a  smile 
at  his  wandering  fancies,  he  came  back  to  real  life 

216 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

again,  and  had  turned,  though  half  regretfully,  to 
go,  when  suddenly,  at  the  very  instant,  he  stopped, 
and  again  stood  still.  A  dark  figure  had  come 
across  the  lawn  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  walked  up 
to  the  door  without  reconnoitering,  and  disappeared 
within. 

A  moment  or  two  of  silence.  Then  the  light 
down-stairs  was  extinguished,  and  an  instant  later 
the  one  above  was  suddenly  darkened,  until  only  the 
faintest  glimmer  remained.  And  again  Vaughan, 
though  half  doubtfully  this  time,  smiled  at  his  folly. 
Surely  this  was  the  novelist  at  his  worst.  Striving 
to  find  something  unusual  and  strange,  worthy  of 
his  notice  and  comment,  in  what?  In  the  coming 
home  of  some  prosaic  householder,  doubtless 
tempted  into  a  longer  stay  than  usual  at  the  village 
by  the  charms  of  the  good  fellowship  of  tavern  or 
grocery  store. 

Suddenly  his  heart  leaped.  What  was  that? 
Something  mysterious  was  on  foot,  then,  after  all. 
From  within  the  house  came  sounds  as  if  of  a 
struggle  —  a  crash,  as  of  furniture  overturned  —  a 
single  half-choked,  muffled  cry.  Then  a  rush  and 

217 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

clatter  of  feet  on  the  stairs,  and  then,  before  his 
wide-open,  straining  eyes,  from  the  rear  door  of 
the  house  a  figure  emerged,  followed  almost  in- 
stantly by  another.  The  pursued,  the  taller  and 
slimmer  of  the  two,  and  evidently  by  far  the  fleeter 
of  foot,  ran,  as  one  who  knows  his  ground,  straight 
for  the  thickest  cluster  of  trees,  and  reaching  them, 
dived  into  their  shelter  like  a  hare.  The  pursuer, 
following  for  a  space,  all  at  once  slackened  his 
speed,  swerving  and  bearing  aimlessly  away,  con- 
stantly farther  and  farther  to  the  left,  in  a  wide 
half  circle,  his  body  bent  all  the  time  more  and  more 
to  one  side,  his  head  thrown  back  and  upward,  as 
if  spent  and  exhausted,  even  with  the  brief  effort 
he  had  made.  And  finally,  fairly  doubling  on  his 
tracks,  he  came  headed  straight  for  the  rock  at 
the  summit  of  which  Vaughan  stood.  Nearer  and 
nearer  he  came,  and  then,  quickly,  as  in  the  faint 
moonlight  the  man's  face  became  more  plainly 
visible,  Vaughan  drew  one  instant  gasping  breath 
of  sickened  horror.  The  face  was  set,  as  if  rigid 
with  agony,  the  eyes  were  unnaturally  wide,  and 
over  the  upturned  forehead  and  the  pallid  cheeks 

218 


THE  EVENTS  OF  AN  EVENING 

flowed  something  hideously  dark  and  glistening. 
And  then,  convulsively,  with  a  ghastly  semblance 
of  an  athlete  who  finishes  his  race,  the  figure  threw 
one  arm  high  into  the  air,  as  if  grasping  for  sup- 
port, staggered,  pitched  forward,  and  fell  motion- 
less, lying,  in  the  darkness  below,  a  huddled  heap  in 
the  road. 

To  Vaughan,  all  unschooled  in  the  darker  ex- 
periences of  life,  came  a  sudden  access  of  blind 
terror.  He  knew  that  he  should  at  once  descend, 
yet,  knowing  it,  stood  motionless,  his  will  unequal 
to  the  task.  And  then,  as  he  sought  to  nerve  him- 
self for  the  trial,  nature  intervened.  At  once  he 
was  conscious  that  his  heart  was  throbbing  so 
faintly  and  so  fast  that  his  ear  could  scarcely  sepa- 
rate the  beats;  something  tightened  in  his  throat; 
the  silver  birches  floated  and  turned  before  him, 
and  he  found  himself  nearer  fainting  than  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  life  before.  Slowly,  after  wjiat 
seemed  to  him  an  indefinite  period  of  semi-con- 
sciousness, his  brain  again  cleared;  distrustingly  he 
loosed  his  hold  on  the  sapling  which  he  had  grasped, 
and  with  genuine  courage,  sought  once  more  to 

219 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

approach  the  edge  of  the  little  cliff  and  begin  his 
descent. 

Yet  that  descent,  spite  of  his  newly  taken  resolu- 
tion, was  now  never  to  be  made.  At  the  edge  he 
gave  one  shuddering  look  below,  then  hastily  and 
with  caution  drew  back,  peering  fixedly  through  the 
screen  of  leaf  and  branch.  The  man,  indeed,  still 
lay  where  he  had  fallen,  but  now,  creeping  down 
the  driveway,  came  the  first  figure,  returning,  as  if 
impelled  by  some  impulse  too  powerful  to  resist. 
Stealthily  it  approached  the  huddled  figure  on  the 
ground,  looked  around  listening,  then  swiftly  knelt, 
turned  the  body  over,  and  raised  the  head  upon  its 
knee.  Then  came  the  quick  spurt  of  a  match,  and 
Vaughan,  leaning  forward  with  fascinated  gaze, 
saw  more  than  he  wished  to  see  —  saw  what  he 
would  have  given  anything  in  the  world  not  to  have 
seen;  for  the  motionless  figure,  with  head  drooped 
horribly  to  one  side,  hair  matted,  and  face  streaked 
and  dabbled  with  red,  was  that  of  Tom  Satterlee, 
and  the  face  which  bent  over  him,  showing  pale  and 
horror-stricken  in  the  light  of  the  tiny  flame,  was 
the  face  of  Jack  Carleton.  Vaughan  turned  and  ran. 

220 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  YELLOW    STREAK 

"A  plague  on  all  cowards,  I  say." 

Shakespeare. 

FROM  a  slumber  that  was  scarcely  a  sleep,  a 
slumber  feverish  and  fitful,  broken  by  restless 
starts  and  uneasy  twitchings,  Arthur  Vaughan  sud- 
denly opened  his  eyes,  on  the  instant  broad  awake. 
For  just  one  blank  moment,  as  has  happened  with 
mankind  so  many  million  times  before,  as  will  hap- 
pen so  many  million  times  again,  his  brain  seemed  to 
hang  motionless,  without  impression  of  any  sort; 
and  the  next  minute  across  it  the  blurred  and  dis- 
torted images  of  the  night  before  were  rushing  and 
crowding  their  way  with  a  sense  almost  of  physical 
suffocation  and  terror.  He  had  half  started  from 
his  bed,  when  at  the  same  moment  the  knock  on 
the  door  which  had  first  awakened  him  was  re- 
peated. "  Come  in,"  he  called,  and  at  the  word  the 

221 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

•door  opened,  and  Henry  Carleton's  valet  softly 
entered  and  began  to  pull  back  the  curtains.  For 
a  moment  Vaughan  lay  motionless,  watching  the 
man,  and  wondering  instinctively  if  he  knew;  then, 
trying  hard  to  speak  in  a  tone  casual  and  off-hand, 
he  greeted  him.  "  Good  morning,  Rollins." 

Swiftly  and  silently  the  man  turned.  His  face, 
to  Vaughan's  relief,  appeared  perfectly  impassive. 
"  Good  morning,  sir,"  he  returned  respectfully. 
"  A  fine  morning  out,  sir,"  and  then,  after  a  hardly 
perceptible  pause  —  Vaughan  could  almost  feel  the 
words  coming  —  "  There  was  bad  doings  last  night, 
sir." 

Vaughan  had  risen,  and  was  slowly  crossing  the 
room  toward  his  bath.  He  stopped  abruptly. 
M  And  what  was  that,  Rollins  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  valet  stepped  a  little  nearer,  speaking  in  a 
hushed  and  somewhat  awe-struck  tone.  "  It  was 
poor  Satterlee,"  he  answered.  "  He's  dead,  sir. 
They  found  him  this  morning,  outside  his  house, 
with  his  head  all  bashed  in.  Stone  dead,  sir.  I 
was  there  when  they  brought  him  in.  It  was  a 
horrid  sight  to  see ;  — "  and  then,  with  real  feeling, 

222 


THE  YELLOW  STREAK 

the  man,  and  not  the  servant  in  him  uppermost,  he 
added,  "  Poor  Tom.  He  was  that  happy,  sir." 

Vaughan  still  stood  without  moving.  "  Dead/' 
he  repeated  mechanically,  "Good  God!"  and  then, 
"  His  head,  you  say  ?  Why,  do  they  think  — 

The  man  shook  his  head.  "  Nobody  knows  any- 
thing, sir,"  he  answered.  "  It  was  right  near  his 
house ;  right  underneath  .a  big  high  rock ;  he  might 
have  fell  off,  or  been  pushed  off;  you  couldn't  tell. 
Of  course,  sir,  they've  sent  for  the  medical  exam- 
iner, direct.  He  should  be  here  in  an  hour  or  two, 
I  should  judge,  sir,  at  the  most." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Vaughan  assented.  "  I  under- 
stand ; "  then  at  once  added,  "  and  what  does  Mr. 
Carleton  say?  " 

"  Oh,  he  feels  terribly,  sir,"  the  valet  answered, 
"  I  never  saw  him  so  broke  up  in  my  life.  *  Poor 
Satterlee,'  he  kept  saying,  '  I  feel  as  if  I  was  to 
blame.  I  shouldn't  have  asked  him  to  go  that  far, 
so  late.  It  was  after  hours.  I  should  have 
waited.' " 

Vaughan  nodded.  "  Yes,  that's  like  Mr.  Carle- 
ton,"  he  said.  "  But  of  course  it  wasn't  any  of  his 

223 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

fault,  just  the  same.  He  couldn't  have  looked 
ahead  to  anything  like  that." 

"  No,  indeed,  sir,"  the  man  answered  heartily, 
"  of  course  he  couldn't.  But  as  you  say,  sir,  it's 
like  him.  He's  always  very  considerate  with  all  of 
us.  Oh,  he  certainly  took  on  terrible;  he  was  as 
white  as  a  sheet  when  they  brought  poor  Tom  in." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Vaughan  absently,  "  I  don't 
doubt;  "  then  quickly,  "  and  how  about  Mr.  Jack?  " 

"  Why,  he  was  in  a  bad  way,  too,  sir,"  an- 
swered Rollins,  "  but  different  like,  more  quiet,  as 
if  he  had  his  wits  more  about  him." 

In  spite  of  himself,  at  the  words  Vaughan 
started,  and  then,  "  What  about  the  horse  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  That  was  curious,  sir,"  the  man  replied,  "  the 
horse  was  in,  unharnessed  and  in  his  stall;  seems 
as  if  Tom  must  have  got  back  early,  after  all.  But 
no  one  knows  how." 

As  he  spoke,  in  the  hall  outside  a  bell  rang  sharply 
and  at  once  he  turned  to  answer  it,  then  paused. 
"  That's  Mr.  Carleton,  sir,"  he  said,  and  then  with 
a  quick  return  to  his  usual  manner,  "  Is  there  any- 

224 


THE  YELLOW  STREAK 

thing  further  you  might  wish,  sir?"  and  on 
Vaughan's  half -mechanical  answer  in  the  negative, 
he  hastily  left  the  room. 

It  was  on  a  disturbed  and  disordered  household 
that  Vaughan  half  an  hour  later  descended.  Rose 
alone  came  to  meet  him  as  he  reached  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  and  in  silence  led  the  way  into  the 
deserted  breakfast  room. 

"  You  won't  find  very  much  to  eat,  Arthur,  I'm 
afraid,"  she  said.  "  You  mustn't  mind.  Every- 
thing's so  terribly  upset." 

He  bent  and  kissed  her,  pitying  her  white  face 
and  trembling  hands.  "  My  dear  girl,"  he  said 
tenderly,  "  don't  worry  about  me.  Breakfast 
doesn't  count  at  a  time  like  this.  Where  has  every- 
body gone  ?  " 

The  girl,  pouring  out  his  coffee,  helplessly  shook 
her  head.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered. 
"  It's  ajl  been  so  confused.  My  father's  gone  down 
to  see  Mrs.  Satterlee,  I  believe,  and  Mr.  Cummings 
is  outside  somewhere,  too.  He  seemed  to  feel  it 
as  much  as  any  one.  He  really  looked  very  badly, 
and  hardly  touched  his  breakfast  at  all.  And 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Cousin  Jack  —  I  don't  know  where  he's  gone.  I 
suppose  he  minded  more  than  anybody;  he  was 
always  around  so  much  with  Tom  in  the  old  days 
out  here.  He  acted  so  queerly,  too;  and  looked 
at  everybody  so  —  oh,  I  don't  know  how  to  describe 
it  —  stern  and  fierce,  as  if  somehow  he  thought  we 
all  had  something  to  do  with  Tom's  being  killed. 
And  all  the  time  father  kept  saying  things,  like  that 
in  the  midst  of  life  we  were  in  death,  and  that  no 
man  could  tell  the  hour  —  oh,  it  was  all  ghastly.  It 
was  awful." 

Vaughan,  nibbling  gingerly  at  the  cold  toast, 
and  struggling  to  swallow  the  luke-warm  coffee, 
nodded  understandingly.  Every  instinct,  every  bit 
of  good  sense  that  he  possessed,  told  him  to  drop 
the  subject,  and  still,  for  the  life  of  him  he  could 
not  check  the  words  that  rose  to  his  lips.  "  Did  you 
—  did  you  see  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  girl  shuddered.  "  Not  close  to,"  she  an- 
swered, "  only  when  they  brought  him  by  the  house. 
I  didn't  know  —  I  looked  —  once.  I  wish  I  hadn't. 
Oh,  his  face  — " 

Abruptly,  a  little  dizzily,  Vaughan  rose  from  the 
226 


THE  YELLOW  STREAK 

table,  last  night's  ugly  vision  again  seeming  to 
pass  before  his  swimming  eyes.  On  the  instant  the 
girl,  all  penitence,  rose  also,  coming  swiftly  around 
to  his  side.  "  Forgive  me,  dear,"  she  cried,  "  I 
didn't  mean  to  shock  you.  I  should  have  thought. 
Excuse  me,  please." 

He  hastened  to  take  her  hand.  "  No,  no,"  he 
cried,  "  there's  nothing  to  forgive.  It's  not  your 
fault.  Let's  get  outside  in  the  air.  It's  close  in 
here.  I  feel  a  little  faint." 

A  moment  later  they  stood  on  the  broad  piazza, 
in  all  the  glory  of  the  warm  June  sunshine.  Up 
in  the  top  of  a  swaying  elm  an  oriole  flooded  the  air 
with  song;  out  over  the  lawn,  against  the  green  of 
the  shrubbery,  a  big  golden  butterfly  floated  softly 
along;  in  and  out  of  the  vines  above  their  heads 
a  tiny  humming-bird  —  a  living  gem  —  darted  here 
and  there,  his  crimson  throat  flashing  like  flame  in 
the  sunlight  —  then  quick  as  thought  with  a  whir  of 
his  swiftly  moving  wings,  was  gone.  Life  —  life 
—  life  —  in  every  tone  and  call  of  nature's  voice, — 
and  out  there,  in  the  hushed  quiet  of  the  stable,  a 
man  lay  dead. 

227 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Vaughan  rested  a  hand  on  the  girl's  arm. 
"  Look,"  he  whispered,  "  down  by  the  road." 

The  girl  raised  her  eyes.  There,  dimly  to  be 
seen  through  the  screen  of  the  shrubbery,  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  a  figure  paced,  with  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground,  with  one  hand  tugging  fiercely  at 
his  mustache,  to  and  fro  —  to  and  fro.  "  Cousin 
Jack,"  she  said. 

Silently  Vaughan  nodded.  Well  enough,  from 
the  uncertain  tumult  going  on  in  his  own  mind,  he 
could  guess  the  bitter  struggle  that  was  being  waged 
in  Carleton's.  In  an  hour  the  medical  examiner 
would  come;  all  would  in  turn  be  examined  on 
oath.  Henry  Carleton,  doubtless,  would  be  the 
first  called  upon  to  testify;  then  Jack;  then,  he  sup- 
posed, Cummings  and  himself.  And  what  should 
he  do?  The  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth  —  the  words  seemed  aimlessly  to  sing 
themselves  over  and  over  in  his  brain.  And  then, 
with  a  shake  of  his  head,  he  roused  himself.  One 
thing  was  plain.  Before  the  examiner  came,  there 
must  be  some  plan  of  concerted  action  between  Jack 
Carleton  and  himself  —  some  knowledge  of  what 

228 


THE  YELLOW  STREAK 

each  was  going  to  say  when  called  on  to  face  that 
grim  ordeal.  And  it  might  be  that  there  was  little 
time  to  spare.  He  turned  quickly  to  Rose.  "  I'm 
going  to  speak  to  him,"  he  said. 

She  made  a  protesting  movement.  "  Oh,  must 
you?"  she  cried,  "I  so  hate  to  be  left  alone,  just 
now,"  but  for  once  her  lover  was  firm.  "  I  must, 
dear,"  he  said,  "  I  won't  be  long.  You  stay  right 
here,  and  don't  worry  or  think  about  it  at  all.  I've 
got  to  see  him  for  a  minute,  anyway;  I  won't  be 
long,"  and  as  she  released  her  detaining  hold  on  his 
arm,  he  walked  swiftly  down  the  steps  and  across 
the  lawn. 

On  the  velvet  of  the  yielding  turf  his  footsteps 
made  no  sound,  his  figure  cast  no  shadow,  and  it 
was  not  until  he  was  almost  upon  Carleton  that  the 
latter  glanced  up.  Deep  in  thought  he  must  have 
been,  for  to  Vaughan  it  seemed  that  it  was  for  a 
full  half  minute,  at  the  least,  that  Carleton  con- 
tinued to  gaze,  hardly  at  him,  but  rather  beyond, 
as  if  for  all  that  time  he  was  unable  to  call  his 
thoughts  back  to  the  present.  And  even  when  he 
had  done  so,  his  greeting  sounded  scarcely  cordial, 

229 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

as  if  he  would  greatly  have  preferred  being  left 
alone  without  interruption  of  any  kind,  however 
well  intended. 

"  Hello,  Arthur,"  he  said,  "  you've  heard  about  it, 
I  suppose."  ^ 

Vaughan  nodded.  "  Yes,  I've  just  heard."  For 
a  moment  he  faltered,  uncertain  how  to  proceed; 
then,  lamely  enough,  he  added,  "  How  was  he  killed, 
Jack?" 

Carleton  looked  at  him  strangely;  and,  almost 
roughly,  he  answered,  "  Killed  ?  How  should  he 
have  been  killed?  Fell  off  that  rock,  of  course." 
He  paused  for  a  moment  in  his  turn;  then,  with  a 
singular  distortion  of  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  that 
gave  to  his  expression  a  look  almost  ghastly,  he 
added,  with  a  kind  of  savage  emphasis,  "  He  took 
one  drink  too  many,  I  suppose;  poor  devil;  it's  an 
ugly  rock." 

Tone  and  words  alike  sounded  utterly  foreign  to 
him.  He  stood  staring  at  Vaughan,  as  he  spoke, 
but  still  as  if  he  scarcely  saw  or  heeded  him,  as  if 
he  strove  to  map  out  for  himself  a  path  in  the 
tangled  net  of  circumstance  which  threatened  him. 

230 


THE  YELLOW  STREAK 

Vaughan,  regarding  him,  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
grasped  his  courage  in  both  his  hands.  "  Look 
here,  Jack,"  he  said,  forcing  the  words  with  effort, 
"  Mr.  Carleton  and  I  were  on  the  piazza  last  night 
about  half  past  ten.  I  told  him  I  was  going  to 
turn  in,  and  he  said  he  was  going  to  do  the  same 
after  he'd  taken  a  little  walk  around  the  place.  I 
started  for  bed,  and  then  I  changed  my  mind. —  I 
went  for  a  walk  too." 

At  once  Carleton  seemed  to  catch  an  unusual 
meaning  in  the  other's  tone,  and  yet  for  a  moment 
the  real  import  of  the  words  did  not  dawn  on  his 
brain.  Then  suddenly  he  started,  half  drawing 
away.  "You  went  for  a  walk?"  he  echoed,  and 
then,  apparently  throwing  aside  all  caution,  "  What 
do  you  mean,  Arthur?"  he  cried,  "What  do  you 
mean?  " 

Vaughan,  hesitating  still,  dreading  the  effect  his 
words  might  have,  almost  regretting  that  he  had 
spoken  at  all,  looked  his  friend  squarely  in  the  face. 
"  I  saw  it  all,  Jack,"  he  said. 

Carleton's  look  was  one  of  utter  amazement. 
For  an  instant  he  stood  silent,  staring  at  Vaughan 

231 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

as  if  doubtful  of  his  senses.     Then,  "  You  saw  him 
run  out  of  the  house  ?  "  he  cried. 

Vaughan  nodded.  "  I  saw  it  all,"  he  repeated, 
"  and  afterward,  by  the  rock  — " 

But  to  everything  beyond  his  mere  assent 
Carleton  seemed  to  pay  scant  heed.  He  stared  at 
Vaughan  still,  but  now  with  a  strange  mingling  of 
emotions  showing  in  his  face.  And  curiously 
enough,  there  seemed  to  predominate,  above  all  the 
rest,  a  look  almost  of  savage  relief. 

"  That  clenches  it,  then,"  he  cried.  "  That  settles 
the  whole  thing,"  and,  swift  as  thought,  the  next 
moment  the  expression  faded.  "  No,  no,  Arthur," 
he  cried,  with  the  most  intense  earnestness,  "  we 
can't;  don't  you  see  we  can't?  See  what  would 
happen.  There'd  be  the  devil  and  all  to  pay.  Rose 
might  not  marry  you,  even.  ,You  know  how 
proud  she  is.  It  isn't  a  question  of  what  I  ought 
to  do  myself,  Arthur.  It's  a  question  of  the  family 
honor.  It  mustn't  be  known;  it  shan't.  We'll  tell 
the  same  story.  No  one  else  knows,  man.  No  one 
that  would  tell.  It's  the  only  way.  Give  me  your 
•word,  Arthur;  give  me  your  word." 

232 


THE  YELLOW  STREAK 

In  silence  Vaughan  stood  and  looked  at  him. 
These  were  the  same  temptations  that  had  beset 
him  the  long  night  through;  against  which  his  in- 
stinctive feeling  of  justice  had  struggled  well-nigh 
in  vain.  And  yet,  while  gropingly  and  half-uncon- 
sciously  he  had  felt  that  for  him  there  might  be 
some  excuse,  somehow  now,  the  frank  cowardice  of 
the  plea,  coming  from  the  man  himself,  jarred 
strangely  upon  him.  And  yet  -:—  was  it  cowardice? 
Was  there  not  more  than  a  grain  of  truth  in  all  that 
Carleton  had  said?  Would  it  not,  after  all,  be  for 
the  best?  For  there,  on  the  other  hand,  lay  the 
scandal  to  be  faced;  the  notoriety  of  it  all,  scarcely 
endurable;  the  hordes  of  prying  reporters;  the  vul- 
gar crowd  of  eager  seekers  after  mystery  who 
would  make  of  Eversley  a  very  Mecca  —  from  all 
this  he  shrank,  as  he  could  see  that  Carleton  shrank, 
and  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  from  the  other  alternative  he 
shrank  as  well. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say  ?  "  he  asked,  and 
his  tone  was  grudging;  his  eyes  this  time  did  not 
seek  Jack's  face. 

Carleton  drew  a  sigh  of  evident  relief.  "  Say?  '" 
233 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

lie  echoed  eagerly.  "  What  should  you  want  to  say  ? 
You  were  abed  and  asleep  the  whole  time.  You 
went  straight  up-stairs  and  slept  soundly  all  night. 
That's  simple  enough,  isn't  it?  Of  course  Henry'll 
swear  that  you  told  him  that's  what  you  were  going 
to  do.  Swear  to  it,  and  stick  to  it.  That's  all." 

Slowly  Vaughan  nodded.  "  And  you  the 
same?  "  he  asked. 

"Of  course,"  Carleton  answered  eagerly,  and  at 
his  manner  Vaughan  found  himself  all  at  once  mar- 
veling. Whatever  else  of  emotion  he  might  feel 
in  the  medley  of  sensations  which  swept  over  him, 
above  everything  else  he  was  conscious  of  a  sting- 
ing disappointment,  an  open  shame,  for  this  man  — 
his  friend.  He  turned  away,  his  voice  as  he 
answered,  sounding  dully  in  his  own  ears.  "  All 
right,"  he  said.  Then  suddenly  a  new  difficulty 
struck  him  with  stunning  force.  "  But  what's  .the 
use,  Jack?  "  he  cried,  "  Mrs.  Satterlee — " 

Carleton  took  one  quick  step  forward.  "  Every- 
thing's the  use,"  he  said,  almost  menacingly.  "  Do 
as  I  tell  you,  for  God's  sake!  Don't  worry  about 
Ihe  woman.  Her  testimony  will  be  the  same  as 


THE  YELLOW  STREAK 

ours.     Nobody   knows  anything.     Can't   you   see? 
Or  don't  you  know  what  sort  of  woman  — 

Across  the  lawn  Rose  Carleton's  voice  sounded, 
vibrant  with  anxiety.  "  Arthur,  Cousin  Jack,"  she 
called,  "  you're  wanted  at  once.  The  medical  ex- 
aminer is  here." 

The  Columbian  reporter,  jotting  down  a  note 
or  two,  rose  from  his  seat  at  the  examiner's  desk. 
"  I'm  very  much  obliged,  sir,"  he  said.  "  That 
clears  that  matter  up.  You've  told  me  exactly  what 
I  wanted  to  know.  And  on  this  last  case  that  came 
in  to-day,  the  coachman  out  at  the  Carleton  place, 
you  say  there  won't  be  anything  doing?  " 

The  medical  examiner  shook  his  head  in  decided 
negative.  "  The  coroner's  verdict,"  he  answered, 
"  not  of  course  speaking  officially,  or  for  quotation 
in  any  way,  will  be  one  of  accidental  death.  Of  that 
I  am  morally  certain.  There  wasn't  a  shred  of  evi- 
dence to  prove  anything  different.  Or,  one  chance 
in  ten,  perhaps,  at  the  most,  it  might  be  '  death  at 
the  hands  of  persons  unknown/  ' 

The   reporter   sighed.     "  It's   too   bad,    though, 

235 


THE  CARLETON  CASE ' 

isn't  it?"  he  rejoined.  "All  the  elements  of  a 
great  story  there  somewhere  " —  he  paused  a  mo- 
ment; then  added  thoughtfully,  "I'm  not  jollying, 
you  know;  I  really  am  awfully  disappointed.  Be- 
cause—  it's  a  queer  thing  —  if  there  was  any  evi- 
dence for  a  starter,  I  could  furnish  some  mighty 
interesting  information  in  a  certain  direction.  Do 
you  know  anything  about  the  wife  of  this  man  that 
was  killed,  this  Mrs.  Satterlee  ?  " 

The  examiner  shook  his  head.  "  Nothing,"  he 
answered,  "  excepting  that  I  couldn't  help  but  no- 
tice that  she  was  a  remarkably  beautiful  woman. 
Entirely  out  of  her  class  as  the  wife  of  a  coachman, 
I  should  have  said." 

"  Exactly,"  the  reporter  exclaimed.  "  Well,  now, 
listen  to  this.  If  anybody  wanted  to  hear  some 
mighty  funny  evidence  concerning  this  woman,  and 
concerning  one  of  the  men  who  was  at  the  Carleton 
place  the  night  this  happened  —  not  gossip,  you 
know,  but  something  that  I  actually  know  about, 
saw  with  my  own  eyes  —  if  anybody  wanted  to  get 
hold  of  that,  why,  I  rather  think — " 

The  examiner  raised  a  restraining  hand.  "  Well, 
236 


THE  YELLOW  STREAK 

don't  think,"  he  said  curtly.  "  You  ought  to  know 
enough  about  the  laws  of  evidence  to  stop  you  from 
figuring  that  two  and  two  make  five.  And,  any- 
way, don't  think  too  hard.  It's  an  awful  strain  on 
a  man.  Your  business,  as  I  understand  it,  as  a 
reporter  on  the  Columbian,  is  to  report  facts,  and 
not  to  come  any  of  these  gum-shoe  sleuth  tricks." 

The  reporter  smiled,  wrinkling  his  forehead 
•whimsically.  "  Your  ideas  of  facts  and  mine,"  he 
rejoined,  "  might  not  tally,  exactly,  but  in  the  main, 
yes,  I  guess  you're  right."  He  rose  to  take  his 
leave.  "  And  still,"  he  said  again,  "  I  can't  help 
wishing  there  was  just  a  little  evidence  to  go  to 
the  district  attorney's  office.  If  there  should  be, 
now  — " 

"  Well,  there  won't,"  snapped  the  examiner, 
"you  needn't  worry.  I  tell  you  the  case  ends 
here." 

The  reporter  raised  his  eyebrows,  at  the  same 
time  making  a  deprecating  gesture  with  arms  and 
shoulders.  "  Oh,  all  right,  all  right,"  he  said 
soothingly.  "  Just  as  you  say."  He  held  the  door 
fully  open  now.  "  Oh,  and  look,"  he  added, 

237 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

'"  which  Cummings  was  it  that  was  spending  the 
night  out  there?     The  railroad  man,  or  Jim?  " 

The  examiner  did  not  look  up  from  his  writing. 
"  Jim,"  he  answered  shortly. 

The  reporter  half  closed  the  door  again.  "  Say," 
he  observed  engagingly,  "  now  that's  another  mighty 
funny  thing — " 

The  medical  examiner  wheeled  suddenly  on  him. 
"  Oh,  come,  come,"  he  said,  "  get  out.  You  make 
me  tired.  You  know  too  much  altogether.  There's 
one  thing  you  don't  know,  though.  That  I'm  busy 
sometimes  —  even  too  busy  to  listen  to  you  and 
your  '  funny  things,'  as  you  call  them.  Now,  get 
out." 

The  reporter  was  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
threshold  now.  He  paused  for  one  parting  shot. 
"  I'll  bet  you  a  dollar,"  he  said,  "  that  things  don't 
stop  here  for  good.  I'll  bet  you  a  dollar  —  I'll  bet 
you  five  —  that  some  day  we  hear  of  this  case 
again." 

There  was  no  response.  He  waited  a  moment  in 
silence.  And  then  the  door  at  last  closed  behind 
him. 

238 


CHAPTER  XIII 

VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

"  Truth  is  the  highest  thing  that  man  may  keep." 

Chaucer. 

ONCE  again  the  household  at  The  Birches  had 
settled  down  into  its  wonted  routine  of  daily 
life.  Yet  with  a  difference,  too,  for  over  the 
whole  place  the  shadow  of  the  tragedy  still 
hung.  Henry  Carleton,  deeply  affected  at  the  loss 
of  a  faithful  and  valued  servant,  showed  his  sor- 
row by  making  no  attempt  to  replace  him,  letting 
the  motor  lie  idle,  and  promoting  Saunders,  the  for- 
mer groom,  to  the  coachman's  vacant  post.  Mrs. 
Satterlee  herself,  very  pretty  and  very  sad  in  deep- 
est black,  continued  to  live  alone  at  the  cottage, 
going  out  but  seldom  and  seemingly  well-nigh  in- 
consolable in  her  grief.  Just  once,  Rose  Carleton. 
feeling  vaguely  repulsed  in  the  visit  or  two  she  had 
made  to  her  one  time  nurse,  had  gone  to  her 

239 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

father's  study  to  question  him  in  regard  to  the 
widow's  position.  "  Is  it  quite  proper,  father,"  she 
had  asked,  "  for  her  to  live  there  now,  all  alone  ? 
Don't  you  think  people  may  begin  to  talk  ill- 
naturedly  about  her  ?  " 

Henry  Carleton  had  sat  thoughtfully  for  a  time 
before  he  had  made  answer,  and  then,  "  Poor 
woman,"  he  said,  with  deep  feeling,  "  this  has  been 
a  heavy  blow  for  her.  And  but  such  a  short  time 
married,  too.  Really,  I  hardly  know  what  to  say, 
and  yet,  for  the  present,  at  least,  I  think  I  should 
allow  her  to  remain.  To  me  it  would  seem  heart- 
less to  do  otherwise.  Too  much  as  if,  just  because 
poor  Satterlee  were  of  no  further  use  to  me,  I  was 
anxious  to  cast  off  his  widow  also.  I  understand 
your  feeling  in  the  matter,  Rose,  and  I  appreciate 
the  kindness  you  have  shown  in  speaking  of  it,  but 
in  time  of  sorrow  and  affliction,  the  breath  of  scan- 
dal seems  but  a  secondary  consideration.  Duty 
first,  my  child,  come  what  may,"  and  Rose, 
ashamed  of  her  prudishness,  had  risen  and  kissed 
him. 

"  You're  right,  father,"  she  cried  hastily,  "  as 
240 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

you  always  are.  If  there's  anything  I  can  do  to 
make  things  easier  for  her,  you've  only  to  tell  me." 
Henry  Carleton,  with  a  little  smile,  had  thanked 
her,  and  the  incident  had  been  closed. 

Across  Jack  Carleton's  path  the  shadow  of  Sat- 
terlee's  tragic  death  seemed  to  lie  dark  and  unfor- 
getable.  For  a  day  or  two,  indeed,  morose  and 
grave,  he  continued  to  make  The  Birches  his  home ; 
then,  suddenly,  he  took  his  departure,  going  back  to 
his  in-town  lodgings,  and  The  Birches  knew  him  no 
more. 

But  of  all  the  changes  caused  by  the  doings  of  the 
night,  the  most  marked  had  taken  place  in  Arthur 
Vaughan.  With  him,  indeed,  all  else  apart,  things 
had  been  going  badly  enough  to  warrant  discour- 
agement. First  of  all,  after  a  week  or  two  of  in- 
dulgence in  ever  strengthening  hope,  coming  home 
one  hot  and  breathless  evening  to  his  lodging  house, 
lie  had  found  an  envelope  with  Small  and  White's 
name  in  the  corner  awaiting  him  on  the  table  in  the 
halL  With  it  there  appeared  no  bulky  parcel  of 
type-written  sheets,  and  on  the  instant  his  heart 
beat  rapidly  at  twice  its  usual  speed.  Could  it  be 

241 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

at  last  the  turning  point  in  the  long,  straight  path 
of  disappointments?  Somehow  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  open  the  letter  there,  and  in  spite  of 
weariness,  of  the  almost  overpowering  heat  of  the 
day,  he  ran  up  the  three  flights  of  stairs,  never 
stopping  until  he  had  reached  the  shelter  of  his  own 
bare  and  simply  furnished  room. 

Even  then  he  still  hesitated,  scarcely  even  bring- 
ing himself  to  glance  at  the  missive  that  burned 
in  his  hand.  Once  more  he  looked  about  him,  at 
the  familiar,  friendly  old  arm-chair,  at  the  bat- 
tered desk  in  the  window,  with  the  manuscript 
sheets  of  his  new  story  scattered  over  its  surface, 
then  out  at  the  restful  green  of  the  big  elm  tree 
whose  spreading  branches  almost  touched  his  win- 
dow, screening  the  whole  room  with  their  welcome 
shade.  All  of  these  he  had  come  to  know  and  hail 
as  friends,  and  natural  enough  it  seemed  to  him  that 
now  in  the  hour  of  his  joy  he  should  wish  to  take 
them  into  his  confidence,  and  to  bid  them  rejoice 
with  him  at  last.  With  a  final  look  from  the  win- 
dow down  into  the  quiet,  deserted  street  below,  he 
resolutely  tore  open  the  letter,  and  ran  his  eye  over 

242 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

the  first  line  or  two  of  its  contents  —  then,  with  a 
sharp  intake  of  breath  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  stood 
silent  and  motionless,  his  face  suddenly  white,  as 
though  he  had  received  some  mortal  blow.  It  was 
over,  then.  The  first  three  lines  were  enough.  He 
knew  that  stereotyped  form  so  well.  "  We  are  re- 
turning to  you  to-day  " —  that  was  sufficient  —  he 
could  have  gone  on  and  completed  the  letter,  with 
scarcely  the  miscalling  of  a  single  word.  Yet  pres- 
ently, with  a  self -contemptuous  smile,  he  took  up 
the  letter  again,  and  read  it,  slowly  and  deliberately, 
as  a  man  might  run  a  sword  inch  by  inch  into  his 
body,  stopping  now  and  again  to  give  it  a  little 
extra  twist  or  turn  stoically  to  watch  himself 
twinge  and  wince  with  the  pain,  eyes  closing,  mouth 
contorted. 

And  anguish  of  soul,  indeed,  every  whit  as  bitter 
Arthur  Vaughan  now  knew.  Hardly  had  he  real- 
ized, after  his  friendly  chat  with  Henry  Carleton, 
and  the  words  of  encouragement  he  had  received 
from  that  practised  man  of  affairs,  how  thoroughly 
he  had  discounted  the  future.  Down  in  the  bot- 
tom of  his  heart  he  knew  now  that  for  a  fortnight 

243 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

he  had  really  cherished  the  belief  that  all  would 
at  last  come  right,  that  the  book  would  be  taken, 
that  his  name  would  be  made,  that  his  marriage 
with  Rose  would  be  but  a  question  of  a  longer  or 
shorter  time;  and  now,  hopes  dashed,  he  was  back 
again  where  he  had  started ;  nay,  worse  off,  indeed, 
for  another  possible  chance  was  lost  to  him,  another 
publisher  had  set  the  seal  of  disapproval  on  his 
work  —  oh,  it  was  all  too  bitter! 

Mechanically  he  read  and  re-read  the  letter.  All 
were  there  —  all  the  little  catch  words,  the  honeyed 
phrases  which  said  one  thing,  yet  were  made  to  say 
it  so  smoothly  and  courteously  that  at  the  end  he 
half  doubted  that  after  all,  his  work  had  been  re- 
fused;—  all  were  there.  "We  are  returning" — 
yes,  that  seemed  enough,  almost,  but  still  they  had 
to  go  on, — "  manuscript  you  have  been  so  kind  as 
to  submit," — oh,  of  course,  it  had  been  such  a 
kindness  on  his  part, — "  reading  it  has  occasioned 
us  much  pleasure," — pleasure!  Of  what  sort, 
Vaughan  wondered;  "it  has  many  obvious  merits," 
—  why  didn't  they  take  it,  then  ?  —  "  and  some 
equally  obvious  defects." — Ah,  yes,  the  defects; 

244 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

that  was  it,  of  course,  the  defects;  that  phrase,  he 
felt,  at  least  was  sincere. — "  Only  after  careful  de- 
liberation—  at  last  unwillingly  compelled  to  come 
to  the  conclusion  —  present  state  of  the  public  taste 
—  certain  practical  considerations  inevitably  to  be 
considered  —  on  the  whole  —  again  thanking 
you  — "  More  and  more  hastily,  as  he  neared  the 
end,  Vaughan  read,  almost  with  a  feeling  of  physi- 
cal disgust.  Then  he  tossed  the  letter  on  his  desk, 
and  stood,  with  folded  arms,  looking  out  once  more 
into  the  silent  street,  where  the  shadows  were  be- 
ginning to  fall  deeper  and  deeper,  merging  gradu- 
ally into  the  dusk  of  twilight.  At  last  he  spoke. 
"I  wouldn't  care,"  he  said,  "if  it  was  bad  work; 
if  it  was  work  that  I'd  slighted;  if  it  was  work  I'd 
done  in  a  hurry,  letting  a  word  and  a  phrase  go 
when  I  knew  that  somewhere,  if  I  hunted  long 
enough,  I  could  find  the  one  that  really  fitted.  But 
it  isn't  like  that.  I  can't  reproach  myself.  It's 
been  three  years  of  the  best  I've  got  in  me.  Every- 
thing in  the  world  I  know  of  style,  every  bit  of 
incident  I  wanted,  every  turn  and  twist  of  charac- 
ter. It  isn't  vanity;  it  isn't  conceit;  I  don't  care 

245 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

who  wrote  the  book;  it's  good,  and  I  know  it's 
good;  and  yet  to  have  them,  one  after  the  other  — " 
Practical,  prosaic,  monotonous,  boomed  the  sup- 
per gong.  With  a  sorry  laugh  Vaughan  turned 
from  the  window,  and  then  paused,  irresolute. 
Must  he  go  down  again,  as  he  had  done  so  many 
times  before;  to  compare  himself,  as  he  knew  that 
in  his  present  mood  he  so  inevitably  must,  to  his 
fellow  lodgers  around  the  well-worn  board.  The 
clerk  in  the  down-town  bank,  the  dapper  young 
shoe  salesman,  the  would-be  humorist  who  made  no 
secret  of  the  fact  that  he  was  "  pulling  down " 
fifty  a  week  out  of  his  "  knock  'em  silly  "  insect 
powder,  the  old  graybeard  who  tottered  away  each 
morning  to  haunt  the  reading-room  of  the  public 
library,  staying  there  the  livelong  day  until  he  tot- 
tered home  again  at  night  —  look  at  it  as  he  would, 
one  fact  remained:  these  men,  all  of  them,  how- 
ever much  he  might  see  in  them  to  criticize,  were, 
each  in  his  way,  successful  men.  Each,  in  his 
turn,  to  do  them  full  justice,  had  stepped  up  at  the 
sound  of  the  bell,  had  wrestled  his  fall  with  the 
practical  world,  and  had  come  out  on  top.  And 

246 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

he,  as  the  world  judges  success,  had  failed  and 
failed,  and  now  had  failed  once  more.  A  money 
getter,  it  seemed,  he  would  never  be.  Never  be- 
fore had  his  inability  to  make  and  lay  away  the 
dollars  struck  him  with  such  tantalizing  force. 
What  good  was  he  in  the  world,  he  asked  himself, 
and  with  a  sudden  envy  for  every  plain,  practical, 
plodding  man  who  was  doing  his  daily  round  in  the 
treadmill  for  his  appointed  wage,  he  felt  himself 
to  be  an  idle  dreamer,  absolutely  unfitted  for  bat- 
tle with  the  sane  and  commonplace  world  in  which 
he  lived;  and  with  a  savage  fluency  of  bitter  self 
disgust  of  which  he  was  for  ever  after  ashamed,  he 
cursed  himself,  and  his  art,  tore  the  letter  venge fully 
into  little  pieces,  slammed  the  door  behind  him,  and 
went  grimly  down  to  his  waiting  supper. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  when,  no 
whit  less  discouraged  and  sick  at  heart,  he  con- 
trived to  gain  an  audience  with  Henry  Carleton. 
Even  the  great  man's  unfailing  affability,  this  morn- 
ing, it  seemed,  even  kindlier  and  more  pronounced 
than  ever,  for  once  failed  to  awaken  in  Vaughan's 
downcast  face  any  semblance  of  an  answering 

247 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

gleam.  "  Bad  news,  Mr.  Carleton,"  he  said, 
briefly,  "  it's  been  rejected  again." 

Carleton's   face   clouded   with   ready   sympathy. 

"  Why,  my  dear  boy,"  he  cried,  "  I  am  sorry  in- 
deed. That  is  a  shame.  I  had  trusted  so  much 
that  this  time  you  would  be  successful.  Indeed,  I 
had  almost  in  a  way  begun  to  feel  as  if  your  success 
were  mine.  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  how  sorry 
I  am." 

Gloomily  Vaughan  nodded  assent.  "  It  does 
make  things  bad,"  he  said.  "  I  hoped  so  much. 
And  now  I'm  as  far  from  Rose  as  ever." 

Carleton  cleared  his  throat.  "  My  dear 
Vaughan,"  he  said,  "  since  you've  chanced  to  men- 
tion the  subject,  I  believe  I  ought  to  tell  you  that 
I've  been  thinking  a  great  deal  of  late  —  as  is  only 
natural  —  about  the  position  you  and  Rose  are  in. 
You  know,  of  course,  that  I  desire  only  her  happi- 
ness, and  yours,  too.  You  know  that.  You  be- 
lieve that,  I'm  confident.  Do  you  not,  my  boy?  " 

Vaughan,  although  not  altogether  without  a 
vague  feeling  of  uneasiness,  hastened  to  assent  to 

248 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

this  self-evident  proposition,  and  Carleton  at  once 
went  on. 

"  Now  then,  my  only  feeling  in  the  whole  matter 
is  this.  You're  neither  of  you  really  happy  now; 
not  in  the  least.  Long  engagements,  as  a  rule, 
never  are  provocative  of  much  happiness.  And 
of  course,  as  we've  said  before,  you  wouldn't  want 
to  get  married,  and  have  me  support  you.  No, 
no,  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't  wish  that;  no,  of  course 
you  wouldn't — "  he  spoke  a  little  hastily,  him- 
self answering  the  question  he  had  appeared  to  ask 
— "  and  so,"  he  continued,  "  I  have  been  wondering, 
wouldn't  it  be  better  —  fairer,  perhaps,  to  Rose  — 
not  to  see  her  so  much  for  a  while.  She's  very 
young,  you  know.  And  if  it  gets  to  be  understood 
that  you  two  are  practically  engaged,  she's  cut  off 
from  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  which  a  young  girl  at 
her  age  ought  rightfully  to  enjoy.  So  why  won't  it 
be  best  for  you  to  go  back  in  earnest  to  your 
work  —  try  as  you've  never  tried  before  —  and  I 
know  that  ultimately  you'll  succeed.  I  envy  you 
your  ability,  Arthur;  I  envy  you  your  choice  of  a 

249 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

profession;  and  I  know  that  success  is  only  a  mat- 
ter of  time  —  only  a  matter  of  time  — "  he  re- 
peated a  little  dreamily.  "  But  you  can't  do  it  and 
have  all  this  strain  of  a  long  love  affair  at  the  same 
time.  I  know  how  that  distracts  one;  it  would 
scarcely  be  worthy  the  name  of  love  if  it  were 
otherwise.  I  remember — " 

He  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  lost  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  past;  and  then  suddenly  coming 
to  the  present  again,  continued,  in  a  far  brisker 
and  more  practical  tone,  "  And  so,  about  Rose  — 
remember,  I'm  not  attempting  to  dictate,  I'm  not 
urging  it,  even;  I'm  only  suggesting  to  your  own 
sense  of  what  is  fairest  and  in  the  end  best  for 
both  of  you,  how  it  would  be  if  perhaps  you  didn't 
see  her  for  a  time.  How  does  it  seem  to  you, 
Arthur?  I  want  you  to  be  perfectly  frank  with 
me,  of  course,  just  as  I  have  been  with  you." 

To  some  men,  possessing  the  defects  of  their  vir- 
tues, any  appeal  to  their  spirit  of  fairness  trans- 
forms their  strongest  into  their  weakest  side. 
Vaughan  nodded  miserably.  "  Perhaps,"  he  said, 
a  little  faintly,  "you're  right.  I  hadn't  thought  of 

250 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

it  in  just  that  way  before.  But  I  want  to  do  what's 
best  for  Rose,  of  course.  And  I'll  own  up  that 
having  the  book  rejected  this  last  time  has  taken 
all  the  confidence  out  of  me.  Perhaps  you're 
right.  Perhaps  I'm  not  being  fair  to  her." 

"  I'm  very  glad,"  Carleton  said  cordially,  "  that 
you  take  such  a  sensible  view  of  it.  It  isn't  the 
easiest  thing  for  a  man  in  your  position  to  do;  I 
appreciate  that.  And  of  course  we  have  one  other 
thing  to  consider.  It's  hardly  probable  that  Rose 
is  going  to  take  the  same  view  of  all  this  that  we 
do  —  at  least,  not  with  any  great  enthusiasm. 
She's  very  fond  of  you,  Vaughan,  as  is  only  right 
and  natural.  But  all  women  in  the  world,  where 
their  lovers  are  concerned,  are  hopelessly  and  by 
nature  entirely  selfish  and  jealous,  to  a  degree,  of 
anything  that  keeps  the  man  in  the  case  away  from 
them,  jealous  even  of  so  worthy  a  thing  as  a  man's 
life  work;  and  a  man's  life  work,  after  all,  as  you 
must  realize  now  as  perhaps  never  before,  is  a  ter- 
ribly important  thing.  So  you  will  have  to  do  your 
best  to  try  to  make  her  see  the  common-sense  side 
of  all  this.  And  that  you'll  do,  I'm  sure." 

251 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

To  Vaughan  it  appeared  as  if  he  found  himself 
suddenly  involved,  really  against  his  will;  arrayed 
on  the  same  side  with  Henry  Carleton  to  fight  the 
battle  of  stern  common  sense,  without  having  any 
very  clear  idea  of  how  he  had  happened  to  get 
there.  "  Do  you  mean,"  he  asked,  "  that  you  think 
I  ought  not  to  see  her  at  all?  " 

Henry  Carleton's  success  had  been  too  great  t& 
permit  of  the  slightest  risk  of  endangering  it. 
"  Oh,  by  no  means,"  he  made  haste  to  answer. 
"  Run  out  and  see  her  whenever  you  feel  like  it  — 
say  once  a  month  or  so.  But  to  come  as  an  ordi- 
nary friend,  and  not  as  an  accepted  suitor,  I  think 
perhaps  would  be  the  wiser  way.  That  commends 
itself  to  you  also,  I  have  no  doubt." 

Vaughari's  expression  was  that  of  a  man  to 
whom  nothing  now  mattered.  "  Oh,  yes,"  he  an- 
swered wearily,  "  that  commends  itself  to  me.  That 
strikes  me  as  very  sensible  indeed." 

The  complete  discouragement  in  his  tone  caused 
Carleton  to  eye  him  keenly.  "  One  other  thing," 
he  said,  hastening  to  shift  the  topic  with  unusual 
abruptness,  "about  the  book.  I  don't  want  you 

252 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

to  feel  in  the  least  cast  down.  We'll  find  a  pub- 
lisher yet ;  I'm  confident  of  it.  And  this  next 
time,  let's  start  fair  and  square.  Give  me  the  man- 
uscript, and  let  me  try  negotiations  in  my  own 
way.  I  think  I  may  almost  promise  that  you'll  not 
find  yourself  disappointed." 

The  expression  on  Vaughan's  face  did  not  seem 
to  indicate  that  he  by  any  means  shared  Carleton's 
confidence.  "  We  can't  do  worse,"  he  said,  perhaps 
a  little  ungraciously.  "If  you  think  there's  any 
good  in  going  ahead,  why,  all  right.  My  confi- 
dence is  gone.  I'll  send  the  great  work  over  to  you 
to-morrow;  and  you  can  send  it  off  on  its  travels 
again,  or  burn  it.  I  don't  know  which  would  be 
the  more  sensible  of  the  two." 

Henry  Carleton  shook  his  head  reprovingly. 
"  Oh,  come  now,"  he  protested,  "  don't  insult  your- 
self that  way.  We'll  show  them  yet."  He  ex- 
tended a  benevolent  hand  as  he  spoke.  Some  one 
had  once  described  Carleton's  method  of  getting 
rid  of  his  callers  as  imperceptible,  but  inevitable. 
"  And  run  out  and  see  Rose  soon,"  he  added 
kindly,  "  have  a  good  long  talk  with  her,  and  fully 

253 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

explain  your  side  of  the  case.  She  won't  fail  to 
grasp  it,  I'm  sure.  She's  nobody's  fool,  if  her 
own  father  does  say  so." 

Somehow  Vaughan  found  himself  outside  the 
office,  outside  the  building  itself,  walking  along  the 
street  in  a  kind  of  maze,  before  his  ordinary  powers 
of  intellect  again  asserted  themselves.  Curiously 
enough,  for  one  who  had  agreed  so  readily  and  so 
entirely  with  everything  that  Henry  Carleton  had 
proposed,  he  now  appeared  to  be  actuated  by  a  cer- 
tain feeling  of  resentment  against  that  worthiest  of 
men.  "  Confound  him,"  he  muttered  disrespect- 
fully. "  How  on  earth  does  he  manage  it  ?  He 
can  turn  me  around  like  a  weathercock.  I  never 
make  such  a  fool  of  myself  as  I  do  when  I  talk  with 
him.  I  never  saw  such  a  man.  I  can  think  of 
twenty  things  now  that  I  might  have  said,  but  when 
I  needed  them,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  could  lay  a  finger 
on  one.  And  if  I  had,  I  don't  doubt  but  what  the 
next  minute  he'd  have  shown  me  where  I  was 
wrong.  He's  always  right.  That's  the  puzzle 
about  him.  He's  so  fair  and  just  about  things; 
you  can't  dispute  him;  and  yet,  for  all  it  seems 

254 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

like  such  an  idiotic  thing  to  say,  he's  right,  and 
you  know  all  the  time  he's  wrong.  Confound  the 
man.  He's  one  too  many  for  me." 

His  talk  with  Rose  came  an  evening  or  so  later 
on  the  broad  piazza,  at  The  Birches.  For  half  an 
hour  Vaughan  had  sought  vainly  to  bring  him- 
self to  make  a  beginning,  with  his  attention  in  the 
meantime  miserably  distracted  from  all  that  Rose 
Carleton  had  to  say,  finding  it  indeed  hard  to  as- 
sent with  any  great  degree  of  pleasure  to  plans  for 
a  future  which  he  now  felt  was  for  ever  barred  to 
him.  So  noticeable  and  so  unlike  himself  did  his 
inattention  finally  become  that  the  girl  stopped 
short  in  something  she  was  saying  to  turn  his  face 
toward  hers,  scrutinizing  it  as  though  she  sought  to 
read  the  trouble  there.  "  What's  gone  wrong,  Ar- 
thur ?  "  she  asked,  "  nothing  that  I've  done  to  dis- 
please you?  " 

Vaughan's  answer  to  the  latter  part  of  the  ques- 
tion was  not  made  in  words.  And  then,  as  he 
again  raised  his  head,  at  last  he  made  his  explana- 
tion. "  It's  this,  dear,"  he  said.  "  I  happened  to  go 

255 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

in  to  see  your  father  the  other  day  about  the  book 
—  to  bother  him  with  more  bad  news  —  and  he 
began  to  talk,  apropos  of  that,  about  ourselves. 
He  was  very  pleasant  —  very  fair  —  I  must  ac- 
knowledge that  —  but  —  he  thinks  that  for  a  man 
with  no  more  prospects  than  I  have,  that  I  have 
no  right  to  hold  you  to  anything  like  an  en- 
gagement ;  that  it  isn't  fair  to  you ;  and  all  that.  I 
suppose,  though  he  was  too  polite  to  put  it  in  just 
that  way,  the  implication  would  be  that  I  ought 
never  to  have  spoken  to  you  at  all.  And  so  —  I 
didn't  see,  for  the  life  of  me,  just  what  there  was 
for  me  to  say.  He  asked  me  if  I  didn't  agree  with 
him  —  it  was  an  awkward  question,  sort  of  a 
'you'll  be  damned  if  you  don't;  you'll  be  damned 
if  you  do'  sort  of  affair-^ and  between  being  a 
fool  or  appearing  to  be  a  knave,  I  chose  the  role 
that  seems  to  come  so  easily  to  me  always;  I  chose 
to  be  the  fool,  and  stammered  out  that  I  supposed 
I  did.  And  now  I  don't  know  what  to  do;  in  a 
way  I've  given  him  my  word  not  to  visit  you  as  if 
we  were  engaged;  in  a  way  it  seems  as  if  he  were 

256 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

right,  too;  and  yet — "  the  unfinished  sentence  was 
eloquent  of  all  his  doubt  and  misery. 

He  might  have  been  prepared  for  almost  any  an- 
swer other  than  the  girl's  laugh  of  real  amusement. 
And  on  the  instant,  wrought  up  and  perplexed  as 
he  was,  the  surprise  of  it  made  him  draw  himself 
up  with  offended  dignity.  Reading  his  mood  with 
all  a  woman's  skill,  the  girl  drew  closer  to  him,  and 
raised  her  face  to  his.  "  Kiss  me,"  she  cried  im- 
periously, and  when,  with  a  rather  ill-grace,  he  had 
complied,  "  There,"  she  said,  "  that's  better ;  don't 
imagine  you  can  get  rid  of  me  as  easily  as  you 
think.  'My  affections  aren't  to  be  trifled  with  like 
that,  I'll  have  you  know." 

Half  vexed  still,  yet  with  a  feeling  of  immense 
relief,  he  gazed  at  her  with  a  certain  pathos  of  in- 
decision. "  Then  you  don't  think  — "  he  began. 

She  broke  in  upon  him.  "  My  dear,"  she  said, 
"I'm  going  to  lecture  you.  I  might  tell  you,  of 
course,  if  I  wanted  to,  that  you  were  perfection, 
possessing  no  faults  whatever;  but  it  wouldn't  be 
true.  You've  got  them,  just  as  everybody  else  in 

257 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

the  world  has.  And  your  greatest  fault  of  all  is 
lack  of  confidence  in  yourself.  You're  too  willing 
to  take  everybody  else's  opinion  in  place  of  your 
own.  That's  what  you've  done  now.  And  on  the 
other  hand,  my  father,  who's  one  of  the  best  men 
that  ever  lived,  I  believe  —  every  daughter  has  that 
privilege  of  belief  about  her  father  —  my  father 
isn't  without  his  faults,  either.  And  his  besetting 
one  is  to  think  that  because  he's  made  a  success  of 
so  many  things,  that  that  gives  him  a  sort  of  divine 
right  to  run  everybody  else's  affairs  for  them,  too. 
In  just  one  word,  speaking  of  course  with  the 
greatest  respect,  he's  a  good  deal  of  an  autocrat. 
And  so,  when  I  laughed  just  now,  it  was  because  I 
was  thinking,  when  it  came  to  an  argument,  what 
possible  chance  you,  with  your  modesty,  could  have 
had  against  him,  with  all  his  certainty  of  being 
right.  And  the  funny  thing  —  the  thing  neither 
of  you  seemed  to  think  of  — "  she  added  auda- 
ciously, "  is  that  I've  got  very  distinct  ideas  of  my 
own  on  most  subjects,  and  especially  about  the 
merits  of  the  man  I'm  going  to  marry.  Oh,  Ar- 
thur, please  —  now  it's  all  rumpled  —  well,  any- 

258 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

thing's  better  than  having  you  with  that  *  farewell- 
for-ever '  look  on  your  face.  So,  you  see,  I  refuse 
to  release  you;  with  the  greatest  respect,  as  I  say, 
for  my  father's  judgment  on  almost  every  other 
subject  under  the  sun." 

Vaughan,  as  he  properly  should  have  been,  ap- 
peared vastly  cheered.  He  drew  a  long  breath; 
then  as  quickly  again  looked  troubled.  "  But  about 
coming  out  here,"  he  objected.  "  I  don't  want  to  be 
a  sneak.  And  I've  agreed  not  to  come ;  only  once 
a  month,  that  is,  and  I  believe,"  he  added  a  little 
ruefully,  "  I  undertook  the  contract  of  persuading 
you  to  assent  to  the  change  of  program.  So  now 
there  are  new  difficulties.  If  I  report  your  in- 
subordination, not  to  say  rebellion,  to  your  father, 
there'll  be  trouble  all  around,  and  if  I  lie  about  it, 
and  report  entire  success,  your  father  will  be  de- 
lighted, but  he'll  be  the  only  one.  You're  so  clever, 
I  guess  I'll  have  to  leave  things  to  you.  You're 
bound  to  get  me  into  trouble;  you've  got  to  get  me 
out  again." 

"  Now,"  the  girl  returned,  "  you're  showing  your 
true  brilliancy.  And  from  what  I  know  of  my 

259 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

father,  I  think  we  will  —  what's  the  word  they  use 
in  the  melodramas  —  dissemble.  That's  it.  We'll 
dissemble.  You  just  tell  my  father  that  you 
talked  with  me,  and  that  I  very  sensibly  agreed 
with  him.  That  will  put  his  mind  at  rest.  Poor 
father.  He  has  so  many  things  he's  busy  about 
I  should  never  forgive  myself  if  I  caused  him  one 
worry  more.  Yes,  I  think  that  will  be  very  satis- 
factory. The  best  way  for  every  one." 

Vaughan  did  not  appear  greatly  to  relish  her 
plans.  "  Satisfactory,"  he  echoed.  "  Seeing  you 
once  a  month.  Well,  if  you  think  that's  clever,  I 
must  say  — " 

"  Seeing  you  here"  the  girl  interrupted. 
"  There's  a  vast  difference  in  that.  This  isn't  the 
only  place  in  the  world.  Really,  Arthur,  for  a 
young  man  of  your  inventiveness  — " 

She  paused,  her  eyes  alight  with  tender  merri- 
ment. At  last  he  seemed  to  comprehend.  "  Oh, 
yes,"  he  nodded,  "  I  see.  In  town,  I  suppose,  but 
then  there's  always  somebody  sees  you,  and  then 
3rour  father  hears  about  it — " 

"Stupid,"  she  flashed  at  him.  "Aren't  there 
260 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

better  places  than  walking  down  the  Avenue,  or 
going  around  to  picture  galleries?  What's  the  fun 
in  that?  Isn'r  there  a  river  not  so  far  away? 
Aren't  there  woods  all  about  us  romantic  enough 
even  for  you?  That's  all  easy  to  arrange.  It'll  be 
quite  fun  working  it  all  out.  But  the  main  thing 
to  manage,  Arthur  — "  her  tone  suddenly  altered  — 
"  is  that  nothing  shall  ever  come  between  us.  To 
try  to  keep  apart  two  people  who  really  love  each 
other  as  we  do,  just  because  of  anything  like 
money,  or  fame,  why,  really,  my  dear,  that's  noth- 
ing short  of  a  crime." 

He  nodded,  yet  a  little  grimly.  "  In  theory, 
dear,  you're  quite  right,"  he  answered.  "  But  how 
about  the  practice?  Money!  Fame!  We  can 
talk  about  them  all  we  choose  as  little  things,  when 
we  haven't  them,  and  the  grapes,  perhaps,  are  a 
little  sour,  but  how  they  count,  after  all.  Poor 
Love!  Love  wasn't  made  for  a  practical  world. 
His  bow  and  arrow  is  effectual  enough,  when 
there's  no  fiercer  game  abroad  than  the  hearts  of 
girls  and  boys,  but  how  can  he  fight  against  real 
warriors  —  shields  of  gold  and  trumpets  of  brass. 

261 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Poor  Love!     Who  could  blame  him   for  running 
away?  " 

She  took  his  hand  with  a  gesture  almost  ma- 
ternal. "  My  dear,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  you 
mustn't  talk  like  that.  It's  sacrilege,  almost.  If 
he  were  the  true  god  of  love,  he  wouldn't  fly. 
And  his  darts  would  pierce  the  golden  shield,  and 
put  the  trumpets  to  rout.  You,  Arthur,  a  lover 
of  all  things  beautiful,  to  dream  of  deserting,  of 
arraying  yourself  on  the  side  of  Mammon." 

She  spoke  lightly,  but  with  a  real  meaning  behind 
her  words.  He  seemed,  however,  to  be  uncon- 
vinced, for  when  he  replied  it  was  with  a  bitterness 
that  startled  her.  "I  don't  care,"  he  said,  "I've 
missed  it  somehow.  I've  made  an  awful  failure 
of  things.  Look  at  me !  Making  no  bluffs,  as  lots 
of  men  do,  keeping  back  nothing,  I'm  earning  a 
little  over  a  thousand  dollars  a  year.  And  other 
men  —  classmates  —  yes,  confound  it,  and  men 
who  came  out  of  college  five  years  later  than  I  did 
—  and  worse  than  that,  men  who  never  went  to 
college  at  all  —  they  can  make  money ;  good  money, 
lots  of  them;  a  few,  big  money,  even;  and  here  I 

262 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

am,  trying  to  publish  a  book  that  never  will  be  pub- 
lished; and  which,  if  it  should  be,  nobody 'd  ever 
read.  Oh,  the  world's  pretty  near  right,  after  all; 
nearer  right  than  we  think;  I'm  labeled  at  just 
about  my  face  value :  a  thousand  dollars  a  year." 

She  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  his  lips.  "  No,  no," 
she  cried,  "  you  don't  understand.  You've  been 
brooding  over  this  so  long  you've  lost  all  sense  of 
proportion  between  money  and  other  things.  I'll 
tell  you  what  I  think.  I  think  making  money's 
only  a  knack.  I  believe  some  men  are  born  with 
it,  and  others  aren't.  Look  at  the  men  who  start 
with  a  pack  of  rags  on  their  back,  and  die  worth 
millions.  It's  in  them;  it's  no  credit  to  them; 
maybe  the  reverse.  No  one  man  can  be  everything. 
Some  men  can  build  railroads,  but  I  couldn't  im- 
agine you  doing  anything  like  that  if  you  tried  your 
honest  best  for  a  hundred  years.  No,  my  dear, 
because  money  seems  to  you  to  be  the  thing  you 
need  the  most  just  now,  you've  been  so  envious  of 
the  men  who  are  able  to  make  it  quickly  that  you've 
forgotten  all  that  you  have  to  be  thankful  for; 
something  that  very  few  men  have  granted  to  them 

263 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

at  all,  even  a  hundredth  part  of  what  you  possess 
—  and  that's  the  precious  perception  of  the  artist; 
the  power  to  see  things  which  the  ordinary  man  can 
never  see.  You'll  succeed,  I  know  you  will,  but 
even  if  you  never  "should  —  by  the  world's  stand- 
ards, I  mean  —  you  ought  never  to  repine.  Read 
your  Browning  again,  dear;  even  I  can  appreciate 
that.  '  One  who  never  turned  his  back  but  marched 
breast  forward,  never  doubted  clouds  would  break ' 
—  how  can  any  man  turn  faint  heart  after  that? 
The  truth,  dear,  that's  everything,  after  all." 

Very  humbly  and  very  reverently  he  stooped  and 
kissed  her.  "  You're  right,  Rose,"  he  said,  "  and 
I've  been  wrong.  Forgive  me.  But  you  know 
yourself  —  sometimes  it's  hard;  sometimes  the 
world's  standards  grip  you  so  that  you  can't  keep 
to  your  own.  But  I've  been  wrong,  and  I  admit 
it  most  humbly.  You've  a  very  wise  little  head 
on  your  shoulders,  dear,  and  I  thank  you  for  setting 
me  right.  I  won't  go  backsliding  again  in  a  hurry, 
I'll  promise  you." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  at  last  abruptly 
Vaughan  spoke,  "  Rose,"  he  said,  "  what  you've 

264 


VAUGHAN  DOUBTS 

just  been  saying  has  reminded  me  of  something  I 
wanted  to  ask  you  about.  It's  a  hypothetical  case, 
that  a  friend  of  mine  put  to  me;  simple  enough, 
seemingly,  yet  hard  for  me  to  decide.  What  would 
you  say  to  this?  Suppose  some  friend  of  yours 
had  done  something  for  which  there  was  no  possi- 
ble excuse ;  committed  a  crime,  we'll  say.  Suppose 
you  had  it  in  your  power  to  condemn  him,  by  tell- 
ing something  that  you  knew,  or,  by  keeping  silent, 
could  clear  him  for  ever.  What  is  your  duty  ?  " 

The  girl  did  not  hesitate.  "  To  tell  what  I  know, 
friend  or  no  friend,"  she  answered. 

Yaughan  nodded.  "  That's  what  I  supposed 
you'd  say,"  he  rejoined.  "  Now  go  a  step  further. 
Suppose  it  were  I  that  had  done  the  wrong.  Would 
you  tell  then?" 

The  girl's  answer  came  as  direct  as  before. 
"You,"  she  cried,  "never;  never  in  the  world.  I 
couldn't  Any  one  but  you." 

Vaughan's  laugh  had  little  of  mirth  in  it.  "  And 
yet,"  he  said,  "if  we  are  worshippers  of  the  truth, 
which  it  is  so  easy  to  prate  of  and  so  hard  to  live, 
where  is  the  logical  distinction?  Why  should  a 

265 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

little  matter  of  personal  liking  for  anybody  stand 
in  your  way  ?  " 

The  girl  was  silent.  Then,  unwillingly  enough, 
"  No,  I  suppose  you're  right,"  she  said.  "  But  it 
wouldn't  be  logic  that  would  decide  me.  I  couldn't 
expose  you,  that  would  be  all.  I'd  acknowledge  to 
myself  the  wrong  I  was  doing,  but  I'd  go  ahead 
with  it  just  the  same.  Perhaps  that's  because  I'm 
a  woman,  and  trust  too  much  to  intuition.  If  I 
were  a  man,  I  don't  know.  As  you  say,  there's  no 
question  of  the  real  right  and  wrong  of  it.  One 
should  speak,  regardless  of  everything  else.  And 
making  it  a  question  of  degree  does  put  the  whole 
thing  in  a  terribly  unsatisfactory  light.  A  stranger 
I  wouldn't  hesitate  about.  You,  I  could  never  be- 
tray, though  I  knew  I  was  doing  wrong.  Midway 
between,  all  grades  of  hatred,  liking,  love.  No,  it 
isn't  satisfactory,  is  it?  Oh,  I  don't  know  how  to 
answer,  Arthur.  But  we've  only  a  few  minutes 
left,  dear.  Let's  not  spoil  it  by  being  too  grave. 
I'm  glad  that  it's  only  a  hypothetical  question,  at 
any  rate.  Not  an  actual  one." 

"  Yes,"  Vaughan  answered,  "  I'm  glad  too." 
266 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  QUEST  OF  TRUTH 

"  And  broader  and  brighter 
The  Gleam  flying  onward, 
Wed  to  the  melody, 
Sang  thro'  the  world ; 
*    *    * 

After  it,  follow  it, 
Follow  the  Gleam." 

Tennyson. 

IT  was  nine  o'clock  on  a  cold,  bleak  evening  in 
late  December.  A  bitter,  stinging,  northwest 
wind  raged  unopposed  up  and  down  the  length  of 
the  passive,  shivering,  all  but  deserted  Avenue;  buf- 
feting the  few  unfortunate  stragglers  still  out-of- 
doors,  making  shrill  music  among  the  chimney-tops, 
shouting  and  storming  at  fast-closed  doors,  and 
tracing  every  moment  deeper  and  deeper  its  bold, 
yet  delicate  design  on  rattling  window  and  frost- 
embroidered  pane. 

267 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

A  pleasant  thing,  indeed,  on  this  wild  night,  to 
turn  indoors  to  some  place  where  comfort  lay;  and 
for  a  moment  to  glance  at  the  little  room  where 
Professor  Emerson  sat  alone  among  his  books, 
reading  peacefully,  and  with  such,  absorption,  that 
to  the  tumult  without  he  paid  no  heed.  His  ven- 
erable, white-bearded  figure  lay  for  the  greater  part 
almost  wholly  in  shadow,  and  the  light  of  the  study 
lamp,  shining  full  upon  his  features,  brought  out 
in  vivid  contrast  the  strong  and  well-etched  outline 
of  his  face.  It  was  a  face  noble  and  sensitive,  with 
a  certain  clear-cut  delicacy  of  line;  pale  as  if  hewn 
from  the  very  marble,  and  yet  as  if  lighted  by  the 
cold,  clear  fire  of  the  spirit  within,  so  fine,  so  keen, 
so  intellectual  still,  that  one  must  needs  peer  more 
closely  to  discover  the  network  of  tmy,  almost  im- 
perceptible wrinkles;  one  must  needs  note  more 
carefully  the  trembling  of  the  thin,  blue-veined  hand 
that  held  the  book,  to  realize  that  the  professor, 
alert  and  active  for  so  many  long  years,  was  but 
a  professor  emeritus  now;  and  that  one  was  gazing 
on  a  man  feeble,  infirm  and  old. 

Peacefully  he  sat  there,  and  indeed,  in  that  quiet 
268 


THE  QUEST  OF  TRUTH 

room,  on  an  ear  far  quicker  and  readier  than  his 
own  the  fury  of  the  gale  would  scarce  have  struck 
disturbingly.  Blow  the  wind  as  it  might  around 
the  casement,  rug  and  curtain  and  tapestry  laughed 
it  to  scorn;  whistle  as  it  would  down  the  chimney, 
the  mounting  warmth  of  the  crackling  flame  met 
and  repulsed  it  at  every  turn.  Verily  the  little 
room,  restful  and  serene,  the  scholar's  orderly 
abode,  seemed  a  sanctuary  alike  from  the  storms 
of  nature  and  from  the  storms  of  the  world. 

Presently,  through  the  stillness  of  the  house,  a 
bell  pealed  sharply.  To  the  old  man,  however,  it 
must  have  sounded  but  faintly,  for  at  once,  with 
but  a  momentary  half  glance  upward  from  his 
book,  he  fell  to  reading  again.  Nor  was  his  serv- 
ant's knock  on  the  study  door  enough.  It  was 
only  when  he  had  entered  the  room,  and  had  ap- 
proached respectfully  almost  to  within  arm's  length, 
that  the  professor  at  last  gave  heed.  "  Mr. 
Vaughan,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "  wishes  to  know  if 
you  could  see  him  for  a  little  while." 

At  once  the  old  scholar  seemed  to  rouse  himself. 
Closing  his  book,  he  laid  it  aside.  "  Mr.  Vaughan," 

269 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

he  repeated,  "  why,  yes  indeed.  Ask  him  to  step 
right  up,  please,"  and  a  moment  later  footsteps 
sounded  in  the  hall  outside,  and  Arthur  Vaughan 
came  quickly  into  the  room. 

Greetings  exchanged,  the  old  man  beamed  benev- 
olently across  the  fire  at  his  former  pupil.  "  This 
is  very  kind  of  you,  Arthur,"  he  said,  "  I'm  always 
glad  to  see  any  of  my  old  boys ;  and  I  don't  get  the 
chance  so  often  now.  And  what  is  it  to-night? 
Something  you  wished  to  ask  me  about,  or  did  you 
just  drop  in  for  a  chat  ?  " 

Vaughan  hesitated  for  a  moment  before  reply- 
ing. "A  little  of  both,  Professor,"  he  said  at 
length.  "  I  wanted  to  see  how  you  were,  for  one 
thing;  and  for  another,  I  had  something  on  my 
mind  that  I  wanted  to  get  your  opinion  on.  I  al- 
ways used  to  come  to  you  in  college,  when  things 
bothered  me,  and  I  thought  I'd  do  the  same  now. 
This  is  a  hypothetical  case  —  a  question  of  conduct 
' — and  one  of  the  puzzling  ones  that  seem  to  have 
right  on  both  sides." 

Instantly  the  old  man's  interest  was  awakened. 
"A  question  of  conduct,"  he  repeated,  "by  all 

270 


THE  QUEST  OF  TRUTH 

means  let  me  hear  it,  Arthur.  There's  nothing 
more  interesting  than  that,  ever.  Matthew  Arnold, 
you  know  — '  conduct  three-fourths  of  life.'  Very 
likely  so,  of  course,  and  yet  I  always  wondered 
just  how  he  fixed  it  with  such  exactness.  Why  not 
five-eighths,  I  used  to  wonder,  or  seven-eighths; 
why  just  the  seventy-five  per  cent.  He  thought 
himself,  as  I  remember  it,  that  he'd  pitched  it  low, 
and  Stevenson,  on  the  other  hand,  considered  it 
high.  Well,  that  was  Arnold,  all  over.  A  little 
arbitrary  in  such  things;  a  little  given  to  catch- 
words, perhaps;  black  letter,  you  know;  and  yet, 
for  all  that,  a  great  critic,  a  great  debater,  and  to 
my  thinking,  a  great  poet  as  well.  Well,  well, 
there  I  go  rambling  again.  This  old  head-piece, 
I'm  beginning  to  think,  Arthur,  is  getting  pretty 
shaky  now.  Well,  to  come  back  to  the  point.  A 
question  of  conduct;  that's  it,  isn't  it?" 

Vaughan  smiled.  "To  tell  the  truth,  Profes- 
sor," he  answered,  "  if  I  were  to  consult  my  own 
pleasure,  I'd  rather  try  to  keep  you  rambling,  as 
you  call  it,  than  to  come  down  to  any  dry  question 
of  right  and  wrong.  But  as  long  as  I  have  this 

271 


on  my  mind,  I  suppose  I'd  better  get  down  to  busi- 
ness, and  save  the  ramble  for  another  time.  This 
is  the  case,  Professor.  Suppose  a  man  has  a  friend 

—  not  a  mere  acquaintance,  you  understand  —  but 
one  of  those  rare  things,  'a  real  friend,  for  whom 
he  would  do  almost  anything  under  heaven,  if  it 
would  help  him  in  any  way.     And  then  suppose  that 
suddenly,  absolutely  by  chance,  he  comes  upon  the 
knowledge  that  this  friend  has  committed  a  crime 

—  a  crime  so  dastardly  that  he  can  atone  for  it  only 
with  his  life.     No  one  else  in  the  whole  world  — " 
for  just  an  instant  he  stopped,  then  with  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders,  went  on.     "  Yes,  we'll  let  it  go  at  that, 
I  think.     No  one  else  in  the  whole  world  knows 
the  facts.     He  holds  his  friend's  life  practically  in 
his  hands.     And  so  —  the  question  comes.     Shall 
he  turn  informer?     What  is  his  duty?     Shall  he 
treat  his  friend  as  if  he  were  some  ordinary  crim- 
inal whom  he  had  never  seen  —  should  be  at  all 
eagerness  to  drag  him  before  the  bar  of  justice,  and 
have  him  pay  the  penalty  of  his  crime?     Or  has 
friendship  some  claim?     Has  he  the  right  to  stand 
aside,   shoulders  shrugged,   mouth  tightly  closed? 

272 


THE  QUEST  OF  TRUTH 

Has  he  the  right  to  say, '  No  business  of  mine.  Let 
the  man  settle  it  with  his  conscience  and  his  God  ? ' 
Has  he  a  choice  ?  Or  is  he  bound  to  step  forward  ? 
Is  he  dragged  into  the  cursed  business  against  his 
will  ?  Can  he  keep  silence,  or  must  he  speak  ?  " 

He  stopped  abruptly.  There  was  a  silence,  a 
silence  so  long  that  Vaughan  was  beginning  to 
wonder  whether  or  not  the  old  man's  brain  had 
fully  grasped  his  words.  But  when  at  last  the 
professor  spoke,  it  was  evident  that  the  pause  had 
been  given  only  to  careful  thought;  that  no  detail 
of  the  problem  had  been  lost  on  him.  "  Is  any  ene 
else,  Arthur,"  he  asked,  "  supposed  to  be  involved  ? 
Or  is  it  simply  the  case  of  the  man  himself?  Are 
there  others  to  be  considered,  or  does  he  stand 
alone,  confronted  with  the  deed  he  has  done?  " 

Vaughan's  answering  laugh  had  nothing  of 
mirth  in  it.  "  Any  one  else,"  he  echoed,  "  I  should 
say  so.  Relatives;  friends;  a  woman's  heart,  per- 
haps, to  be  broken.  And  the  man  who  is  con- 
fronted with  the  problem  —  it  may  mean  loss  of 
his  own  happiness  as  well.  And  a  name,  too;  a 
family  name  that's  been  maintained  with  honor  for 

273 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

centuries,  almost,  one  might  say.  That's  to  be 
dragged  in  the  dust,  if  it  all  becomes  known.  Is 
any  one  else  involved?"  He  laughed  again. 

There  was  a  pause  before  the  professor  spoke, 
and  then,  "  Could  the  man  make  atonement, 
Arthur  ?  "  he  asked. 

Vaughan's  tone,  when  he  answered,  was  low  and 
sad.  "  Never,"  he  replied,  "  never  in  a  million 
years.  It  is  a  crime  where  mankind  seek  to  do 
justice,  but  where  really  there  is  no  possible  atone- 
ment. The  crime  is  the  taking  of  the  life  of  a 
fellow-man." 

The  old  man  slowly  nodded.  "And  he  refuses 
to  come  forward?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  refuses  to  come  forward,"  Vaughan  an- 
swered, "  though  of  his  motives,  perhaps  it  is 
hardly  fair  to  pretend  to  judge.  Still,  strictly 
speaking,  I  suppose  that  scarcely  alters  the  case. 
Whatever  his  idea  in  keeping  silent,  in  any  event 
he  does  so." 

"  And  of  his  guilt,"  said  the  professor,  "  I 
understand  you  to  make  no  question.  That,  as  I 

274 


THE  QUEST  OF  TRUTH 

understand  it,  is  one  of  the  fixed  hypotheses  of 
the  problem,  and  not  open  to  discussion." 

Vaughan  inclined  his  head.  "  Exactly,"  he  re- 
turned. "Of  his  guilt,  unfortunately,  there  is  no 
question.  That  we  may  regard  as  fixed." 

Long  and  earnestly  the  old  man  pondered. 
"  There  is  a  difficulty,  of  course,"  he  said,  at  length. 
"  Under  ordinary  circumstances,  or  rather,  perhaps, 
I  should  say,  under  extraordinary  circumstances, 
under  the  hypothesis,  I  mean,  that  there  existed  in 
all  the  world  only  the  murdered  man,  the  criminal, 
yourself,  and  the  tribunal  of  justice,  then  I  suppose 
the  case  would  be  tolerably  clear.  I  suppose  no 
sophistry  could  convince  us  that  the  incidental  fact 
of  a  personal  friendship  should  in  reality  make  the 
slightest  difference  as  to  what  your  duty  would  be. 
But  then  there  enters  the  complication  of  which  you 
speak  —  the  rights  of  the  other  parties  involved. 
As  to  whether  there  were  others  concerned,  my 
question  was  almost  a  needless  precaution.  Of 
course  there  are.  No  man,  even  the  lowest,  ever 
lives  to  himself  alone.  Consciously  or  uncon- 

275 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

sciously,  he  has  to  influence  some  one  about  him, 
for  good  or  evil,  as  the  case  may  be.  But  consider- 
ing everything,  even  the  sorrow  and  misfortune 
that  must  result  from  it,  I  am  of  opinion,  Arthur, 
that  the  man  should  speak.  It  would  be  hard,  of 
course;  terribly  hard;  but  life  is  hard.  And  of  the 
ultimate  standard  of  right  and  wrong,  we  may 
scarcely  hope  to  judge.  All  that  we  may  hope  to 
do  is  to  act  up  to  the  truth  as  we  see  it.  And  here, 
Arthur,  I  believe  the  duty  is  plain.  To  what  the 
man  has  seen  he  must  bear  witness,  at  whatever 
cost.  That  way  lies  right,  and  to  follow  the  easier, 
the  more  human  course,  and  to  keep  silence,  that 
way  lies  wrong." 

Vaughan  had  sat  listening  with  downcast  eyes. 
In  spite  of  himself,  he  could  not  raise  them  to  meet 
the  professor's  glance,  though  within  him  his  mind, 
mutinous,  rebelled.  "  But  doesn't  friendship 
count?"  he  said  at  last.  "Doesn't  loyalty  go  for 
anything?  Can  a  man  play  the  traitor,  as  you 
would  have  him  do,  and  not  be  branded  false  for 
all  eternity  ?  " 

The  professor's  gaze,  serene  and  calm,  never  for 
276 


THE  QUEST  OF  TRUTH 

an  instant  faltered.  "  Arthur,"  he  said,  "  yoir 
don't  believe  that  —  not  a  word  of  it.  You're  try- 
ing to  make  good  soldiers  enlist  in  a  bad  cause. 
Friendship,  loyalty ;  yes,  they  are  fine  things ;  scarce 
anything  finer,  perhaps;  but  where  the  true  al- 
legiance of  these  fine  things  belongs  —  that  it  is 
the  truth  that  transcends  all  else  —  that,  Arthur, 
you  know,  in  your  inmost  heart,  as  well  as  I." 

Vaughan  sat  silent,  with  clouded  brow.  And 
then,  as  the  pause  lengthened,  he  made  another 
effort  still.  "  But,  Professor,  even  if  the  individual 
amounts  to  little,  isn't  there  the  further  question 
of  the  other  matter  of  which  I  have  spoken  —  the 
question  of  an  honored  family  name.  That,  at 
least,  Professor,  is  no  small  thing.  To  bring  a 
stain  upon  it,  without  the  most  absolute  necessity 
for  so  doing,  doesn't  it  seem,  in  a  way,  like  seeking 
to  debase  the  currency?  A  name,  graced  by 
generations  of  those  who  have  borne  it  worthily, 
passes  always  current  for  patriotism,  integrity, 
honesty;  the  name  becomes  of  itself  a  force  for 
the  public  good.  And  now,  suddenly  debase  that 
name  —  smirch  and  mar  it  —  and  you  have  struck 

277 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

a  blow  at  the  very  foundation  of  things;  you  shake 
the  confidence  of  the  people  at  large  in  something 
which  they  had  come  to  regard  as  one  of  the  un- 
questioned bulwarks  of  the  city  and  the  state. 
Isn't  that  something  to  be  well  considered? 
Should  not  the  man  see  to  it,  that  in  righting,  or 
trying  to  right,  a  wrong  for  which  he  is  not 
responsible,  he  does  not  go  too  far,  and  instead  of 
reparation,  leave  behind  him,  in  its  place,  a  scar  —  a 
blot  —  that  even  time  can  not  erase.  Isn't  that 
the  solution,  sir?  Should  not  the  man  keep  still?  " 
For  a  time  the  old  man  sat  silent,  weighing 
Vaughan's  words  well,  before  he  at  length  made 
answer.  "That  is  an  argument,  Arthur,"  he  re- 
plied, "  a  plausible  argument ;  yet  hardly,  I 
should  say,  sound.  Debasing  the  currency  is  an 
excellent  figure,  yet  there  is  a  currency  as  much 
higher  than  that  of  family  names,  as  gold  outvalues 
copper.  And  to  seek  to  keep  the  copper  inviolate, 
while  at  the  same  time  forced  to  debase  the  real 
currency  —  the  standard  gold  —  would  that  be  the 
path  of  wisdom?  Names,  you  say;  great  names; 
but  they  seem  such  a  small  thing  in  the  wide  uni- 

278 


THE  QUEST  OF  TRUTH 

verse  itself;  a  name;  a  great  name;  a  generation  of 
great  names ;  all  but  the  tiniest  dust  motes  shimmer- 
ing across  the  sunbeam  which  gives  them  all  the 
luster  they  may  claim.  Is  the  dust  speck  of  reputa- 
tion worth  saving,  if  its  rescue  means  the  shutting 
out  of  the  sunbeam  —  Truth?  " 

In  his  turn  Vaughan  sat  silent,  seeking  vainly 
for  words  —  thoughts  —  arguments  —  that  would 
not  come.  At  length  he  rose,  his  hands  clenched, 
the  struggle  going  on  within  him  showing  in  every 
line  of  his  sensitive  face.  "  I  don't  know ;  I  don't 
know;"  he  cried,  "I  have  to  think  it  out  myself. 
But  I  thank  you,  Professor,  for  your  kindness;  I 
hope  I  haven't  tired  you,"  and  taking  the  old  man's 
hand  in  farewell,  he  made  his  way  hurriedly  out  of 
the  room. 


279 


CHAPTER  XV 

MURDER    WILL    OUT 

"Murder,  though  it  have  no  tongue,  will  speak 
With  most  miraculous  organ." 

Shakespeare. 

HENRY  CARLETON  and  his  daughter  sat  in 
the  library  at  The  Birches,  Carleton  writing 
at  the  long  table,  Rose,  with  easy  chair  drawn  up 
in  front  of  the  fire,  busied  with  her  embroidery. 
Presently  Henry  Carleton  laid  aside  his  pen,  and 
rising,  walked  over  to  the  bookcase ;  where  he  found 
the  volume  and  verified  the  quotation  which  he 
sought ;  then,  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction,  he  walked 
back  to  the  table  again,  and  for  an  instant  stood 
there,  glancing  down  contentedly  at  the  orderly  ar- 
rangement of  papers  and  documents  now  completed 
and  laid  aside,  awaiting  the  morrow. 

The    expression   of   his    face    was    serene    and 
benevolent.     His     very     attitude  —  even,     indeed, 

280 


MURDER  WILL  OUT 

something  about  the  atmosphere  of  the  room  itself 
-breathed  of  the  man  at  peace  with  himse^  an<f 
with  the  world.  And  such  a  man,  at  the  moment, 
in  very  truth  Henry  Carleton  was,  and  with  every' 
reason  therefor  besides.  The  routine  of  his  well- 
ordered  day  was  drawing  to  a  close.  From  the 
dinner  table  he  had  gone  direct  to  his  evening 
paper  —  from  the  paper  to  his  desk.  The  little 
white  heap  of  envelopes  that  stood  ready  for  the 
morrow's  mailing  bore  witness  to  his  labors  there. 
The  big  check  book  at  their  side  was  closed  —  mod- 
estly and  becomingly  closed  —  but  if  the  observer's 
eye  had  been  able  to  penetrate  the  cover,  and  for  a 
moment  to  look  at  the  stubs  within,  his  admiration 
for  Henry  Carleton  could  but  have  been  increased 
by  what  he  would  there  have  seen.  One  check, 
made  payable  to  the  Cripples'  Home,  was  for  five 
hundred  dollars;  there  were  a  half  dozen  more, 
payable  to  other  charities,  for  a  hundred  each ;  there 
was  one  for  twenty-five  drawn  to  the  order  of  a 
poor  veteran  in  Eversley  village.  Surely  witnesses 
better  than  these  no  man  could  well  desire.  What 
wonder  that  Henry  Carleton  was  content. 

281 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

And  now,  with  business  out  of  the  way,  with 
his  household  and  his  private  affairs  all  in  order, 
this  man  of  so  many  talents  and  virtues  had  turned 
to  his  pet  avocation  —  literature  —  and  was  forg- 
ing busily  ahead  on  his  scholarly  essay,  Character 
Drawing  in  the  Early  English  Novel.  Glancing 
over  what  he  had  written,  at  once  he  spoke  aloud, 
half  to  his  daughter,  half  —  the  most  important 
half  —  to  himself.  This  thinking  aloud  over  his 
literary  work  was  a  favorite  method  with  him. 
He  liked  to  get  Rose's  ideas  and  criticisms  —  some- 
times, to  his  surprise,  they  appeared  upon  reflection 
to  contain  much  of  good  sense  —  and  apart  from 
this,  he  believed  that  it  was  in  this  way  he  could 
pass  the  fairest  and  the  most  searching  judg- 
ment upon  his  labors.  And  after  all,  the  question 
of  benefit  apart,  the  sound  of  his  own  voice  was 
in  nowise  distasteful  to  him.  Nor  could  he  well 
be  blamed.  It  was  a  pleasant  voice  and  well-modu- 
lated, and  through  its  medium  he  liked  to  think 
around  his  subject,  to  get  the  swing  and  cadence 
of  each  varying  phrase,  before  at  length  he  came 

282 


MURDER  WILL  OUT 

to  make  his  last  "  fair  copy,"  and  thus  to  transmit 
his  ideas  to  paper  in  final  form. 

"  '  Sir  Charles  Grandison,'  Rose,"  he  read,  "  '  is 
beyond  question  most  skilfully  drawn,  with  all  the 
author's  great  command  of  those  quiet  little  strokes 
and  touches,  one  superimposed  on  the  other,  which 
at  last  give  us  the  portrait  of  the  man,  standing 
forth  from  the  canvas  in  all  the  seeming  reality  of 
flesh  and  blood.'  How  does  that  strike  you, 
Rose?" 

The  girl  wrinkled  her  pretty  forehead  "  Well, 
father,"  she  answered,  a  little  dubiously,  "  for  one 
thing,  I  don't  know  that  I  think  it's  quite  true. 
I  always  thought  Sir  Charles  was  a  terrible  prig; 
horribly  self-satisfied  and  altogether  too  much 
taken  up  with  marveling  at  his  own  virtues.  I 
don't  believe,  you  know,  that  a  man  like  Sir  Charles 
ever  could  assume  for  any  one  *  the  seeming  reality 
of  flesh  and  blood.'  '  The  seeming  reality  of  a  lay 
figure,'  I  think,  would  be  about  the  nearest  phrase 
one  could  properly  use." 

Henry  Carleton  hastened  to  dissent.  "  No,  no, 
283 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

my  dear,"  he  returned,  "  you're  quite  wrong.  Sir 
Charles  wasn't  perfect.  Richardson  was  far  too 
clever  to  fall  into  that  error.  Sir  Charles  had  his 
faults,  and  the  author  in  his  concluding  note  takes 
special  pains  to  draw  attention  to  them.  He  had 
his  faults,  but  then  his  virtues  so  far  outweighed 
them  that  they  sank  into  insignificance.  Then 
there  was  Lovelace,  whose  faults  were  so  pro- 
nounced, and  who  had  such  a  lack  of  any  redeeming 
virtues,  that  he  is  at  once  to  be  condemned  as  a 
character  thoroughly  immoral,  serviceable  ethically 
only  to  point  the  awful  example  of  talents  misspent 
and  energies  abused.  And  midway  between  the 
two  is  Mr.  B.,  who  also  had  his  failings,  but  who 
finally  atoned  for  them  by  his  condescension  in 
marrying  Pamela.  The  trio,  I  think,  point  the  way 
to  the  author's  whole  philosophy  of  life.  We  have 
our  faults,  even  the  best  of  us.  We  can't  help 
them.  But  on  the  other  hand,  by  constant  en- 
deavor, we  can  do  so  much  good  that  in  the  end  we 
counterbalance  the  evil  we  do,  and  so  to  speak 
obliterate  it  altogether.  Very  good,  I  think,  and 

284 


very  sound.  An  interesting  title  for  a  little  essay, 
The  Balance,  don't  you  think  so,  Rose  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  doubtful.  "  Why,  no,"  she  an- 
swered, "  to  tell  the  truth,  I  don't.  I  should  think 
that  was  a  pretty  dangerous  doctrine.  Good  and 
evil  —  debit  and  credit.  I  should  think  it  was  a 
very  grave  question  whether  any  amount  of  good 
could  ever  really  balance  one  conscious  evil  act. 
Take  Mr.  B.,  whom  you've  just  quoted,  for  ex- 
ample. I  could  never,  in  reading  that  book,  think 
of  him  as  anything  but  a  great,  hulking,  overbear- 
ing, arrogant  animal,  and  the  shameful  way  in 
which  he  treated  poor  Sally  Goodwin  is  a  case  right 
in  point  —  that  was  something  no  man  could  ever 
atone  for,  even  by  a  series  of  the  finest  deeds  in  the 
world.  No,  father,  I  think,  if  I  were  you,  I 
shouldn't  try  to  justify  a  theory  like  that.  I'm 
afraid  it  isn't  sound." 

Henry  Carleton  frowned.  "  Nonsense,"  he 
cried,  for  him  a  little  irritably,  "  it's  perfectly 
sound.  I  could  give  you  a  hundred  examples. 
'  Take  him  for  all  in  all,'  as  Shakespeare  phrases  it ; 

285 


that's  what  I  mean.  Some  evil  has  to  be  done  with 
the  good,  unless  we're  going  back  to  pillories  and 
hermitages,  to  keep  ourselves  unspotted  from  the 
world.  And  in  these  days  common  sense  forbids 
that.  Your  view  is  entirely  unreasonable,  Rose." 

The  girl  seemed  somewhat  surprised  at  his  un- 
usual heat.  With  a  little  laugh  she  rolled  up  her 
embroidery,  quitted  the  easy  chair,  and  coming 
over  to  him,  kissed  him  obediently  on  the  cheek. 
"  Well,  don't  mind  me,  father,"  she  said  affection- 
ately, "  if  you  don't  want  my  foolish  ideas,  you 
shouldn't  ask  for  them.  One  thing's  sure;  if  your 
theory  is  right,  you  can  do  about  anything  you 
want  to  now.  Rob  a  bank  —  or  commit  any 
dreadful  crime  you  choose.  Your  balance  must 
be  so  large  you  couldn't  overdraw  it  if  you  tried." 

Carleton  laughed.  "  Well,  perhaps  that  is  rather 
a  reductio  ad  absurdum"  he  answered.  "  In  any 
event,  I  don't  think  I'll  experiment  in  the  way  you 
mention.  You're  not  going  up-stairs  already,  are 
you,  Rose  ?  " 

She  nodded.  "  Yes,  if  you  don't  mind,"  she  re- 
plied, "  I'm  a  little  tired  this  evening.  Good  night. 

286 


MURDER  WILL  OUT 

Don't  work  too  hard  over  your  writing  now.  You 
never  rest.  I  never  saw  such  a  man." 

Left  alone,  Carleton  returned  to  his  essay,  but 
not  with  the  concentration  he  had  before  displayed. 
A  sudden  restlessness  seemed  to  have  come  over 
him.  Once  or  twice  he  ceased  his  work  to  consult 
his  watch,  and  finally  stopped,  rose  hastily,  and 
walked  over  to  the  window,  where  he  stood  gazing 
aimlessly  put  into  the  night;  then,  with  a  sigh, 
turned  slowly,  almost,  one  would  have  said,  reluc- 
tantly, again  to  his  task. 

For  perhaps  five  minutes  he  kept  manfully  at 
work.  Then  once  again  his  attention  seemed  to 
wander ;  slowly  and  still  more  slowly  moved  the  un- 
willing pen,  and  finally,  with  a  sudden  impatient 
gesture,  he  laid  it  down,  flung  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  and  sat  there  motionless,  yet  not  with  the 
air  of  one  who  has  comfortably  finished  the  task  he 
has  in  hand,  but  rather  as  if  debating  within  him- 
self, between  two  possible  courses  of  action,  which 
one  at  last  to  choose. 

If  such,  indeed,  was  the  case,  the  decision  was 
not  to  lie  with  him.  There  came  a  knock  at  the 

287 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

door.  "  Come  in,"  he  said  quickly,  and  the  butler, 
Helmar's  friend  of  old,  a  little  thinner,  a  little 
grayer,  a  little  more  imperturbable  than  ever, 
entered  softly,  approaching  close  to  his  master's  el- 
bow before  he  delivered  himself  of  his  message. 
"  Mr.  Vaughan,  sir,"  he  announced  with  slow  de- 
liberation, "  in  the  reception-room.  He  wishes  to 
know,  sir,  if  without  inconvenience  to  yourself  you 
could  give  him  a  few  moments." 

Henry  Carleton  looked  a  little  surprised,  perhaps 
also   a   little   annoyed.     "  To   see   me"   he   said, 
"  you're  sure,  Burton,  that  it  wasn't  Miss  Rose  he 
asked  for?" 

The  butler's  manner  was  one  verging  on  gentle 
reproof.  Within  his  domain  he  did  not  allow  him- 
self the  luxury  of  making  mistakes.  "  Quite  sure, 
sir,"  he  answered.  His  {one,  though  respectful, 
did  not  admit  of  further  questioning  upon  the  point. 
Henry  Carleton  sighed,  and  appeared  to  rouse  him- 
self. "Why,  of  course,"  he  said,  "tell  him  I'll 
be  down  at  once ;  or  no,"  he  added,  "  please,  Bur- 
ton, tell  him  to  come  up  here  instead." 

The  butler,  inclining  his  head,  withdrew.     Then, 
288 


MURDER  WILL  OUT 

a  moment  or  two  later,  the  sound  of  ascending  foot- 
steps, and  Vaughan  entered  the  room.  At  once 
something  in  his  appearance  struck  Henry  Carleton 
as  far  out  of  the  ordinary.  "  Why,  my  dear  boy," 
he  cried,  "  you  look  worried  to  death.  What's  gone 
wrong?  No  more  bad  news  from  the  book?  " 

Vaughan  silently  shook  his  head.  He  was  in- 
deed looking  miserably,  and  when  he  took  a  chair, 
he  sat  bolt  upright  on  its  edge,  leaning  forward 
nervously  when  he  spoke.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  it's 
worse  than  that,  Mr.  Carleton;  a  whole  lot  worse. 
It's  something  that's  been  troubling  me  for  a  long 
time  now,  until  finally  I've  made  up  my  mind  that 
the  only  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  come  straight  to 
you  with  it,  and  tell  you  the  whole  story.  And 
that's  why  I'm  here." 

At  once  Carleton  shoved  books  and  papers  aside, 
as  if  the  better  to  prepare  himself  for  proper  atten- 
tion to  Vaughan's  words.  He  looked  at  his  visitor 
with  an  air  of  friendly  concern.  "  Anything  that 
I  can  do — "  he  murmured.  "You  know,  of 
course,  that  you  may  count  on  me.  Anything  in 
my  power  — " 

289 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Vaughan  nodded  abruptly.  "  Thank  you,"  he 
said  hastily  and  a  little  grimly,  "  it's  not  a  favor 
that  I've  come  for.  I'm  going  to  do  you  a  bad 
turn,  I'm  afraid.  Going  to  do  everybody  a  bad 
turn,  as  far  as  that  goes.  But  it  can't  be  helped. 
I've  got  to  go  ahead,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Henry  Carleton  eyed  him  narrowly,  but  without 
speaking,  and  Vaughan,  looking  up,  as  if  eager 
to  have  his  task  over,  with  sudden  resolve,  began. 
"  It's  about  Satterlee,"  he  said,  "  you  remember 
how  things  happened  out  here  that  night,  of  course. 
I  guess  we  all  do.  Jack  went  up-stairs  to  bed,  you 
remember,  and  you  and  Cummings  went  off  to  play 
billiards.  I  was  on  the  piazza,  with  Rose,  and 
stayed  there  until  you  came  down  to  tell  her  that 
it  was  getting  late.  Then,  after  she  went  up-stairs, 
you  told  me  that  you  were  going  for  a  short  walk, 
and  I  said  I  believed  I'd  go  to  my  room.  Well,  I 
didn't.  I  don't  know  why.  I  started  to  go  in,  and 
then  —  the  night  was  so  fine ;  I  had  so  much  that  was 
pleasant  to  think  about  —  somehow  I  couldn't  stand 
the  idea  of  going  into  the  house,  and  instead  I  took 
a  stroll  around  the  grounds." 

290 


MURDER  WILL  OUT 

He  stopped  for  a  moment.  Henry  Carletonv 
gazing  intently  at  him,  gave  no  sign  from  his  ex- 
pression that  he  was  experiencing  any  emotion  be- 
yond that  of  the  keenest  interest  and  attention. 
Only  his  eyes,  in  the  shadow,  had  lost  their  custom- 
ary benevolent  expression,  narrowing  until  their 
look  was  keen,  alert ;  the  look  of  a  man  put  quickly 
on  his  guard.  And  as  Vaughan  still  kept  silence, 
it  chanced  that  Carleton  was  the  first  again  to 
speak.  "  Well,"  he  queried  impatiently,  "  and  what 
then?" 

Vaughan  drew  a  quick  breath.  "  This,"  he 
cried  hastily,  almost  recklessly,  "  this.  I  walked 
down  toward  Satterlee's  cottage,  and  I  saw  what 
happened  there.  Satterlee  didn't  fall  from  any 
rock.  He  was  murdered.  And  I  saw  it  all." 

Henry  Carleton  did  not  start.  There  was  no 
cry  of  surprise,  no  single  word,  even.  Only,  as 
Vaughan  had  finished,  on  a  sudden  his  eyes  dilated 
strangely;  his  lips  parted  a  trifle;  for  a  moment, 
without  breathing,  without  animation,  it  seemed 
as  if  the  man's  whole  being  hung  poised  motionlessr 
suspended.  So  great  the  surprise,  so  great  the 

291 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

shock,  that  one,  not  knowing,  might  almost  have 
believed  himself  to  be  looking  upon  the  man  who 
had  done  the  deed.  "  Murdered  ?  "  he  at  last  re- 
peated dully,  "You  saw  it?  Murdered?" — there 
was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then,  all  at  once  seem- 
ing to  recover  himself,  he  leaned  forward  in  his 
chair.  "  By  whom?  "  he  cried  sharply,  with  just  a 
note  of  menace  in  his  tone,  "  By  whom?  " 

On  Vaughan's  part  there  was  no  further  hesita- 
tion. He  had  gone  too  far  for  that.  Yet  his  face 
was  drawn  and  distorted  with  pain  as  in  a  tone  so 
low  that  Carleton  could  scarcely  hear,  he  uttered 
the  single  word,  "  Jack." 

And  this  time  the  added  shock  was  too  great. 
Henry  Carleton  started  visibly,  the  most  intense 
emotion  showing  in  every  line  of  his  face. 
"Jack?  "he  gasped,  "Jack?" 

In  silence  Vaughan  bowed  his  head,  hardly  able 
to  look  on  the  anguish  which  his  words  had  caused. 
"  Jack,"  he  muttered  again,  under  his  breath. 

There  was  a  silence,  tense,  pregnant.  Once 
Vaughan,  slowly  raising  his  head,  had  started  to 
speak,  and  Henry  Carleton  had  instantly  lifted  a 

292 


Henry  Carleton  started  visibly.— Page  292 


MURDER  WILL  OUT 

hand  to  enjoin  silence.  "  Wait  a  minute ! "  he 
commanded.  Evidently  he  was  striving  to  recol- 
lect. Then  presently  he  spoke  again.  "  Non- 
sense," he  cried,  "  I  remember  perfectly  now.  That 
was  the  night  that  Jack  said  he  felt  tired;  he  went 
to  his  room  early  to  smoke  a  pipe,  and  then  turn  in. 
Jack  murder  Satterlee!  Why,  nonsense,  man! 
You're  dreaming.  You're  not  in  your  right  mind. 
Jack  and  Satterlee  were  always  good  friends,  and 
Mrs.  Satterlee,  too.  No,  no.  Jack  to  murder  any 
one  is  nonsensical  enough ;  but  Jack  to  murder  Sat- 
terlee —  impossible  —  simply  impossible !  " 

Stubbornly  Vaughan  shook  his  head.  "  I  wish 
to  God  it  were,"  he  answered,  with  deep  feeling. 
"  It  sounds  wild  enough,  I  know,  but  it's  true,  for 
all  that.  Every  word.  And  one  thing  you've  just 
said  — "  he  hesitated,  and  stopped,  then  unwillingly 
enough  continued,  "  one  thing,  I'm  afraid,  goes  a 
long  ways  toward  explaining,  and  that  is  that  Jack 
was  such  good  friends  with  Mrs.  Satterlee.  I'm 
afraid  that  was  the  beginning  of  everything." 

Carleton's  face  was  pale,  and  his  voice,  when  he 
spoke,  was  hoarse  with  emotion.  "  God,  Vaugh- 

293 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

an,"  he  said,  "  this  is  terrible,"  and  then,  with  a 
quick  return  to  his  former  manner,  "  no,  no,  I 
can't  believe  it  yet.  Tell  me  what  you  saw.  Not 
what  you  imagined  or  conjectured.  Just  what  you 
saw  —  actually  saw  with  your  own  eyes." 

"  There  isn't  very  much  to  tell,"  Vaughan  an- 
swered. "  I  just  happened  to  walk  that  way,  for 
no  reason  whatsoever.  Just  by  chance;  I  might 
have  gone  any  other  way  as  well.  And  finally  I 
came  out  on  the  top  of  a  little  hill  —  no,  not  a  hill 
exactly ;  more  like  a  cliff  —  and  from  there  I  could 
see  across  to  Satterlee's  house.  And  while  I  stood 
there,  I  saw  a  man  —  Satterlee  —  come  across  the 
drive,  and  up  the  back  way,  and  go  in.  Then, 
in  a  minute,  I  heard  a  noise  up-stairs,  and  some 
one  cry  out;  and  then,  a  minute  after  that,  Jack 
rushed  out  of  the  house,  with  Satterlee  after  him  — 
and  suddenly  Satterlee  took  to  running  queer  and 
wide  and  in  a  circle,  with  his  head  all  held  pitched  to 
one  side  —  ah,  it  was  ghastly  to  see  him  —  and  then 
he  came  straight  for  the  rock  where  I  was  standing, 
and  all  at  once  his  legs  seemed  to  go  out  from 
under  him,  and  he  sprawled  right  out  on  the  gravel 

294 


MURDER  WILL  OUT 

on  his  face,  and  lay  there.  I  turned  faint  for  a 
minute,  I  think,  and  the  next  thing  I  recall  was 
looking  down  again,  and  there  was  Jack  trying  to 
lift  Satterlee  up,  and  when  he  scratched  a  match 
his  hands  were  all  over  blood,  and  Satterlee's  face 
—  oh,  I've  dreamed  it  all  fifty  times  since  —  he 
was  dead  then,  I  suppose.  His  head  hung  limp, 
I  remember,  and  then  —  it  was  cowardly,  of 
course,  and  all  that,  but  the  whole  thing  was  so 
unexpected  —  so  like  a  damnable  kind  of  a  night- 
mare, somehow  —  and  Jack,  you  know  —  why,  it 
was  too  much  for  me.  I  just  turned,  and  made  off, 
and  never  stopped  till  I'd  got  back  safe  into  my 
room  again.  And  that's  all." 

Henry  Carleton  sat  silent,  engrossed  in  thought. 
Almost  he  seemed  to  be  oblivious  of  Vaughan's 
presence.  "  It  couldn't  be,"  he  muttered,  at  last, 
as  though  incredulous  still,  "  it  couldn't  be.  Jack !  " 
he  paused,  only  to  repeat  the  name  again. 
Then  he  shook  his  head.  "  Never,"  he  said  with 
decision,  "he  would  have  told  everything.  You 
saw  wrong,  Arthur.  You  didn't  see  Jack." 

Something  in  the  older  man's  attitude  of  con- 

295 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

tinued  disbelief  seemed  to  have  the  effect  of  nettling 
Vaughan.  "  How  many  times,"  he  said,  with  a 
note  of  irritation  in  his  tone,  "  must  I  repeat  it  ? 
I  tell  you  I  know.  Can't  a  man  trust  his  own  eyes  ? 
It  was  Jack.  There's  no  room  for  doubt  at  all. 
Don't  you  suppose  — "  his  voice  rose  with  the  strain 
of  all  that  he  had  been  through  — "  don't  you  sup- 
pose that  I'd  have  jumped  at  any  chance  to  clear 
him?  Don't  you  suppose  that  if  there'd  been  the 
faintest  shadow  of  a  doubt  in  his  favor,  I'd  have 
stretched  it  to  the  breaking  point  to  see  him  go  free. 
No,  there's  no  question.  It  was  Jack.  Why  he  did 
it,  or  how  he  did  it,  you  can  conjecture,  if  you 
wish,  but  one  thing  is  plain.  Murder  Tom  Satterlee 
he  did." 

His  tone  rang  true.  At  last,  in  spite  of  himself, 
Carleton  appeared  unwillingly  to  be  convinced. 
Again  he  pondered.  "  Then  he  perjured  himself  at 
the  inquest?"  he  said  quickly  at  last. 

Vaughan  nodded.  "  He  perjured  himself  at  the 
inquest,"  he  assented. 

"  And  you  ?  "  asked  Carleton,  again,  "  you  per- 
jured yourself  too?" 

296 


MURDER  WILL  OUT 

"  I  perjured  myself  too,"  Vaughan  answered. 
"There  were  plenty  of  other  reasons,  of  course; 
reasons  that  you  can  imagine.  It  wasn't  just  a 
case  of  Jack  alone.  There  was  a  lot  else  to  think 
of  besides.  We  talked  it  over  as  well  as  we  could 
—  Jack  and  I.  We  thought  of  you.  We  thought 
of  Rose  —  and  of  me.  We  thought  of  the  Carle- 
ton  name.  The  disgrace  of  it  all.  We  only  had  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  at  the  most  —  and  we  lied,  de- 
liberately and  consciously  lied." 

He  looked  up,  instantly  amazed  at  the  look  on 
Carleton's  face,  for  Carleton  was  gazing  at  him 
as  if  he  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears  —  as  if  this 
piece  of  news,  for  some  reason,  came  as  something 
more  unexpected  than  all  the  rest.  "  You  talked 
it  over  with  Jack?"  he  said,  "talked  it  over  with 
Jack,  and  Jack  thought  of  me  —  and  the  family 
name.  Upon  my  word,  Arthur,  I  believe  one  of  us 
is  mad." 

Vaughan  stared  at  him,  uncomprehending.  "  I 
don't  see  why  you  say  that,"  he  returned.  "  What 
was  there  more  natural?  Or  do  you  mean  Jack 
wasn't  sincere  when  he  put  that  forward  as  a  rea- 

297 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

son?  I've  thought  of  that,  but  I  don't  believe  it 
now.  Just  think  how  we  should  feel  if  instead  of 
sitting  here  and  theorizing  about  it,  we  knew  that 
the  facts  were  really  public  property.  Do  you  won- 
der that  we  stopped  to  consider  everything?  Do 
you  wonder  that  we  decided  as  we  did?  But  we 
were  wrong  —  all  wrong  —  I  knew  it,  really,  all 
the  time.  To  tell  what  I  saw  —  that  was  the  only 
honest  thing  to  do.  I  lied,  and  now  I'm  going  to 
try  to  make  amends.  I'm  going  to  tell  the  truth, 
no  matter  what  comes.  It's  the  only  way." 

Impatiently  Henry  Carleton  shook  his  head.  "  1 
don't  agree  with  you,  in  the  least,"  he  said  quickly. 
""  I  think  you  decided  rightly.  I  should  have  done 
the  same.  And  right  or  wrong,  you've  made  your 
choice.  Why  alter  it  now?  It  would  make  the 
scandal  of  the  day." 

"  I  know  it,"  Vaughan  desperately  assented,  "  I 
know  it  will.  But  anything's  better  than  having 
things  go  on  as  they  are  now.  I  can't  look  people 
in  the  face.  Pve  been  miserable.  I  thought  I 
knew  what  it  was  to  be  badly  off  before,  but  pov- 
erty, and  bad  luck,  and  failure  —  what  are  they, 

298 


MURDER  WILL  OUT 

anyway?  What  do  they  amount  to?  Nothing. 
But  a  thing  like  this  on  your  conscience.  Why,  a 
man's  better  dead.  He  can't  live  with  it,  day  and 
night.  He  can't;  that's  all.  I  know.  He's  got  to 
tell,  or  go  crazy ;  it  isn't  to  be  endured." 

Without  making  answer,  Henry  Carleton  rose, 
and  walked  over  to  the  window,  standing  precisely 
as  he  had  stood  before  Vaughan's  coming,  gazing 
©ut  into  the  blackness  of  the  night.  Then  he 
turned.  "  Wait  here,"  he  said  peremptorily.  "  I've 
got  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this,  or  you  won't  be 
the  one  to  lose  your  senses.  Wait  here.  I'll  be 
back  in  half  an  hour,  at  the  very  latest." 

Sudden  conjecture  dawned  in  Vaughan's  eyes. 
"  You're  going  - — "  he  began,  and  then  paused. 

Henry  Carleton  completed  the  sentence  for  him. 
"  I'm  going  to  see  Mrs.  Satterlee,"  he  answered. 
"  I  refuse  to  credit  your  story,  Arthur,  or  what  you 
say  Jack  admits,  unless  she  corroborates  your  tale 
of  what  happened  that  night.  It  all  depends  on 
her." 

He  turned  to  leave  the  room,  then  paused  a  mo- 
ment, and  again  turned  to  Vaughan.  "  Have  you 

299 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

told  Jack,"  he  asked,  "just  what  you  propose  to 
do?" 

Vaughan  shook  his  head.  "  I  haven't  seen  Jack," 
he  answered,  "  since  the  morning  after  it  happened. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I've  taken  pains  not  to  see  him. 
I  couldn't  bear  to.  The  whole  thing  got  on  my 
nerves.  It  seemed  to  change  him  so.  And  about 
this  part  of  it,  I  haven't  seen  him,  either.  I 
couldn't.  To  go  to  a  man,  and  read  him  his  death- 
warrant.  I  couldn't.  I  thought  I'd  come  to  you." 

Carleton  nodded.  "  I  think  you've  done  wisely," 
he  said,  "  if  this  can  all  be  true,  I  must  see  Jack 
myself  first.  It  becomes  a  family  matter  then. 
Well,  I  must  go.  Wait  here  for  me,  please.  I 
won't  be  long." 

For  perhaps  twenty  minutes  Vaughan  sat  alone 
in  the  library,  his  mind,  after  the  long  strain  of  all 
he  had  undergone,  singularly  torpid.  Mechanically 
he  found  himself  counting  the  squares  on  a  rug 
near  the  table;  three  rows  of  six  —  three  rows  of 
five  —  eighteen,  fifteen,  thirty-three.  Over  and 
over  again  he  did  this  until  at  last  he  pulled  himself 

300 


MURDER  WILL  OUT 

up  short  with  a  start.  And  then  he  heard  footsteps 
ascending;  and  Henry  Carleton  hastily  reentered 
the  room,  his  face  stern  and  set.  For  an  instant, 
as  Vaughan  rose,  the  two  men  stood  confronting 
each  other.  "Well?"  Vaughan  asked,  though 
reading  the  answer  to  his  question  in  the  other's 
eyes. 

Carleton  nodded.  In  the  lamplight  his  face 
looked  ten  years  older.  He  spoke  but  two  words. 
"  It's  true,"  he  said. 


301 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  FAMILY  NAME 

"  Reputation,  reputation,  reputation !  " 

Shakespeare. 

IT  was  long  past  closing  time  at  Henry  Carle- 
ton's.  Every  one,  from  the  oldest  clerk  to  the 
smallest  office  boy,  had  long  since  gone  home.  For 
three  hours,  almost,  the  two  men  had  had  the  office 
to  themselves.  A  long,  bitter  battle  of  words  it  had 
been,  all  the  stored-up  brood  of  evil  passions,  hatred 
and  envy,  anger  and  fear,  as  with  the  bursting  of 
some  festering  sore,  had  surged,  foul  and  horrible, 
into  the  clear  light  of  the  open  day. 

Henry  Carleton  sat  at  his  desk,  but  not  in  his 
usual  attitude  of  calm  composure,  leaning  back  in 

his  chair,  the  acknowledged  lord  and  master  of  his 

i 

little  world,  envied  by  all  men  who  came  to  see  him, 
to  buy  or  sell,  bargain  and  haggle,  plot  and  plan. 
This  Henry  Carleton  was  a  strangely  different  man. 

3°2 


THE  FAMILY  NAME 

Wearily  enough  he  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  his 
head  propped  on  one  hand,  while  in  the  other  the 
pencil  which  ordinarily  never  moved  but  to  some 
purpose,  to  jot  down  some  pregnant  list  of  facts  or 
figures,  now  moved  over  the  blank  surface  of  the 
paper  in  little  aimless  scrawls  and  circles;  fit  index, 
perhaps,  to  its  owner's  strange  confusion  of  brain  — 
a  man  for  once  troubled,  wavering  and  irresolute, 
well-nigh,  at  times,  despairing,  yet  still  seeking 
feverishly  the  solution  of  the  puzzle,  making  des- 
perate hunt  for  the  missing  key. 

Facing  him  sat  Jack  Carleton,  astride  of  one  of 
the  office  chairs,  his  hands  grasping  its  back,  his  eyes 
never  leaving  the  other's  face.  His  whole  expres- 
sion—  the  twitching  mouth,  the  deep-set  gleam  in 
his  troubled  eyes,  the  unconsciously  wrinkled  brow 
—  all  seemed  to  bear  witness  to  some  storm  of  pas- 
sion that  had  passed  over  him,  and  even  in  the 
comparative  calm  which  had  followed,  had  still  left 
its  traces  behind.  One  might  have  hazarded  that 
the  man  who  sat  there  staring  into  Henry  Carle- 
ton's  face  was  a  man  actuated  by  two  feelings,  one 
new,  one  old;  one  a  fear,  deep  and  deadly,  the 

303 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

other  a  resentment  so  fierce  and  bitter,  that  unre- 
strained by  time  and  place,  it  would  have  loosed 
him,  like  a  bulldog,  at  the  other's  throat. 

Without  looking  up,  Henry  Carleton  again  be- 
gan the  argument,  his  tone  an  odd  mixture,  half 
threatening,  half  conciliatory,  as  one  who,  knowing 
that  it  lies  within  his  power  to  effect  his  ends  by 
force,  yet  for  some  reason  strives  first  to  gain  them 
by  gentler  means.  "  Jack,"  he  said,  "  we  have  to 
find  a  way  out  somehow.  And  I  want  to  play  fair 
with  you  —  I  want  even  to  be  more  than  fair  — " 

Jack  Carleton  cut  him  short  with  a  laugh  so  ut- 
terly devoid  of  mirth,  so  full  of  the  bitterest  malice, 
that  a  curse  would  have  struck  more  pleasantly  upon 
the  ear.  "  Oh,  yes,"  he  mocked,  "  of  course  you 
do.  You  want  to  be  fair."  He  paused  a  moment ; 
then,  with  a  naked,  unrestrained,  deliberate  passion 
horrible  to  witness,  he  protruded  his  head  with  a 
gesture  almost  bestial,  his  tone  lowered  so  that  the 
words  came  sibilantly  from  between  his  teeth. 
"  You  damned  sneak,"  he  said,  "  why,  in  the  name 
of  God,  can't  you  act  like  a  man?  Talk  like  a 
man?  All  these  dirty,  canting  phrases  of  yours; 

3°4 


THE  FAMILY  NAME 

they've  grown  on  you  now  so  you  can't  drop  'em 
if  you  wanted  to.  You've  stifled  all  the  real  man 
that  was  ever  in  you  —  and  to  start  with  that  was 
precious  little.  You're  a  money  making  machine; 
money  distributing,  too,  if  that's  any  comfort  to 
you;  you  credit  to  the  Carleton  name.  You've 
sneaked  and  schemed  your  way  so  long  that  you 
do  it  from  habit  now;  and  a  devil  of  a  fine  result 
you've  got  this  time.  You  want  to  be  fair.  Fair ! 
Oh,  my  God !  "  he  laughed  again. 

Henry  Carleton  lifted  a  face  flushed  suddenly 
with  angry  crimson.  "  Stop  it,  Jack,"  he  com- 
manded, and  then,  through  force  of  long  discipline, 
with  a  sigh  he  slowly  shook  his  head,  and  let  his 
clenched  hands  relax.  "  What's  the  use  ?  "  he  said, 
with  infinite  patience,  "  what's  the  use  now>  of  all 
times?  Hear  me  out,  Jack.  I  know  that  you  hate 
me.  And  I  know  why.  I've  been  a  successful 
man,  and  you've  been  a  failure,  but  our  chances 
were  the  same.  You  could  have  done  as  well  as 
I.  Only  you  chose  to  use  your  energies  in  a  dif- 
ferent way.  That's  all  been  your  fault,  not  mine. 
And  now  this  thing's  come  up.  You've  had  a  sur- 

305 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

prise  to-day.  You've  found  things  very  different 
from  what  you  expected.  But  what  is  my  attitude 
all  the  while?  Am  I  trying  to  press  my  advantage 
as  I  could?  That's  the  last  thing  I  want  to  do. 
You  think  I  hate  you.  Jack.  Can't  you  see  that  I 
don't?  If  I  did,  would  I  be  talking  as  I'm  talking 
now  ?  Would  I  talk  with  you  at  all,  even  ?  Would 
I  above  all  sit  here  and  take  your  insults  —  your 
abuse?  Not  for  an  instant.  You  sit  there,  alive 
and  free  —  and  yet  a  dead  man,  Jack.  Think  of 
it!  Dead  already.  Dead  as  if  you  sat  this  instant 
in  the  electric  chair.  And  what  am  I  saying  ? —  the 
man  that  you  think  hates  you.  What  am  I  urging 
and  advising  all  this  time,  when  I  could  see 
you  going  in  the  prison  door,  never  to  come  out 
again  alive?  I'm  showing  you  how  to  get  out  of 
the  whole  thing  scot-free ;  giving  you  every  chance ; 
and  you  won't  listen  to  me." 

Jack  Carleton  had  heard  him  out  in  silence,  in- 
deed, but  without  further  emotion,  without  any 
change  of  the  hard,  set  look  on  his  face.  "  Oh, 
you're  damned  generous,"  he  sneered,  as  the  other 
paused,  "  and  you're  doing  it  all  out  of  love  for 

306 


THE  FAMILY  NAME 

me.  It's  awfully  sudden,  this  affection,  isn't  it? 
It's  been  a  long  time  coming."  He  laughed  with  a 
jarring  offensiveness,  as  if,  strangely  enough,  he 
was  deliberately  trying  to  incense,  instead  of  to 
placate,  the  man  of  whose  good  will  he  stood  so 
sorely  in  need. 

Again  Henry  Carleton's  face  grew  dark,  as  if  at 
last  his  irritation  had  got  the  upper  hand.  "  For 
Heaven's  sake,  Jack,"  he  cried,  "  don't  be  a  child, 
just  for  the  pleasure  of  trying  to  annoy  me.  I 
say  again,  I'm  being  fair  with  you.  I  say  again, 
more  than  fair.  And  if  you  want  to  exercise  your 
irony  on  me  by  implying  that  I'm  not  actuated  by 
any  love  for  you,  I'll  say  frankly  that  this  is  too 
complicated  an  affair  for  any  one  person's  claims  to 
be  paramount  in  trying  to  settle  it.  I'm  considering 
every  one  interested;  I'm  weighing  all  the  chances 
for  everybody  concerned ;  you  and  I,  and  Rose,  and 
Vaughan,  and  Mrs.  Satterlee  —  we're  all  involved, 
and  I  say  again,  looking  at  everything  from  all 
possible  points  of  view,  it's  for  our  interest,  Jack  - 
for  yours  and  mine  —  to  stand  together,  whatever 
happens.  There's  nothing  I  want  more,  whether 

307 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

you  believe  it  or  not,  than  to  see  you  get  out  of  the 
whole  thing  clear.  And  don't  — "  he  raised  his 
hand  as  Jack  started  to  speak  — "  don't  go  running 
off  on  any  abstract  theory  of  what's  right  and  what 
isn't.  It's  no  use.  It's  waste  of  time.  We've  got 
to  look  at  this  matter  as  it  is  —  not  as  perhaps  it 
ought  to  be.  It's  intensely  practical  for  us,  Jack, 
and  so  let's  look  at  it  that  way." 

His  words  seemed  effectual,  as  far  as  any  further 
protest  from  Jack  Carleton  was  concerned.  For  a 
moment  he  sat  silent,  and  then,  with  an  air  of  resig- 
nation, mingled  with  a  certain  indifference,  "  Very 
well,"  he  said,  "  look  at  it  in  that  way,  if  you  choose, 
for  all  of  me.  How  does  that  help?  The  whole 
thing's  as  mixed  as  before ;  you  can't  solve  it  satis- 
factorily, try  as  you  may." 

Henry  Carleton,  well  pleased,  drew  a  quiet 
breath  of  satisfaction.  So  much,  indeed,  seemed 
to  him  a  signal  gain.  Little  by  little  —  that  was 
Henry  Carleton's  way.  "  Good,"  he  said  shortly, 
and  then,  "  but  it  can  be  solved,  Jack,  for  all  that. 
Not  with  perfect  satisfaction  to  everybody,  per- 
haps ;  but  it  can  be  solved." 

308 


THE  FAMILY  NAME 

He  spoke  with  such  an  air  of  assurance  that  Jack 
Carleton  glanced  at  him  quickly,  as  if  seeking  some 
underlying  significance  in  his  words.  Henry  Carle- 
ton's  face,  however,  was  devoid  of  anything  of  en- 
lightenment, and  his  eyes  were  looking  idly  across 
the  room.  "  Yes,"  he  repeated,  "  still  satisfactorily, 
in  the  main,  I  think.  It's  a  pure  question  of  logic, 
Jack.  Let's  start  with  the  assumption  that  if  it 
can  be  avoided,  you're  not  eager  to  die." 

Jack  Carleton's  eyebrows  were  raised  half 
grimly,  half  ruefully.  Something  of  a  kind  of  hys- 
terical humor  seemed  to  him  to  exist  in  the  idea  of 
asking  a  man  with  such  seriousness  whether  or  not 
he  was  eager  to  die.  "  Yes,"  he  returned,  "  you 
can  assume  that.  That's  a  good  point  to  start 
with." 

There  was  something  in  his  tone,  despite  the 
solemnity  of  the  discussion,  that  made  Henry  Carle- 
ton  force  a  sickly  smile,  which  faded  almost  before 
it  had  come.  "  And  second,"  he  said,  "  you'll  keep 
quiet  as  long  as  any  one  else  will." 

Jack  nodded  again.  "  Certainly,"  he  said,  per- 
haps with  more  of  bitterness  in  his  tone. 

309 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Henry  Carleton  leaned  forward,  looking  him  now 
straight  in  the  eye,  and  speaking  with  the  most  in- 
tense earnestness.  "  Then  take  the  parties  involved 
in  their  turn,"  he  cried,  "  if  you  stick  to  that,  no 
harm  can  come  from  you.  No  harm  will  conic 
from  me,  in  any  event.  And  Rose,  of  course, 
doesn't  know.  Of  the  other  two,  Mrs.  Satterlee  — " 
he  paused  an  instant,  then  continued,  a  little 
hastily,  as  it  seemed.  "  Perhaps  there's  no  further 
need  of  going  into  that.  As  we  know,  she  is  safe, 
and  if  not,  there  are  certain  precautions  —  no,  we 
may  dismiss  that  entirely,  I  think.  And  that — " 
the  pause  was  longer  this  time,  "  that  leaves  the 
man  who's  been  foolish  enough  to  raise  all  this 
trouble  to  start  with.  That  leaves  your  friend,  and 
my  prospective  son-in-law,  —  one  man  to  be  reck- 
oned with  —  Arthur  Vaughan." 

This  time  there  was  no  mistaking  the  gathering 
menace  in  his  tone.  But  Jack  Carleton  seemed  not 
to  choose  to  understand  his  words.  "  Well  ?  "  he 
asked. 

Henry  Carleton  frowned.  "  Well,"  he  snapped, 
"isn't  it  perfectly  plain?  Vaughan  wants  some- 

310 


THE  FAMILY  NAME 

thing,  of  course.  He's  got  us  where  he  wants  us 
now.  Of  course  I  knew,  for  a  man  who,  as  a  rule, 
is  so  pliable,  that  when  he  turned  stubborn  about 
this,  it  was  a  plain  case  of  hold-up.  So  that's  what 
we've  got  to  do.  Square  him,  in  any  way  he  wants. 
He's  your  friend.  Sound  him ;  see  what  he's  after. 
Whatever  it  is,  if  I  can  give  it  to  him,  and  I  guess 
I  can,  of  course  I  will.  Go  ahead  and  see  him  right 
away.  We've  got  to  fix  him  quickly,  whatever  else 
we  do." 

Jack  Carleton  shook  his  head  in  vigorous  dis- 
sent. "  You're  miles  wide  of  the  mark.  That  isn't 
Vaughan  at  all.  He's  not  that  kind.  Arthur's  a 
visionary,  almost.  He'd  never  have  kept  quiet  as 
long  as  he  has  if  I  hadn't  practically  gone  on  my 
knees  to  him.  No,  this  is  principle  with  him. 
You're  altogether  mistaken.  You  can't  stop  him 
that  way  in  a  thousand  years." 

Henry  Carleton  sighed.  "  I  don't  believe  it,"  he 
said  stubbornly.  "  I  don't  want  to  believe  it,  but 
you  ought  to  know  him  better  than  I.  And  if  it's 
so  —  I  want  to  be  fair  with  him  —  more  than 
fair  — "  at  the  familiar  phrase  Jack  Carleton  smiled 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

a  grim  Iktle  smile  — "  but  we're  in  a  bad  box,  Jack ; 
a  terribly  bad  box;  and  we've  got  to  pull  out  of  it 
somehow.  Make  him  the  squarest  offer  you  can  — 
anything  in  reason  he  wants  —  and  if  he  doesn't  see 
fit  to  accept  — " 

Jack  Carleton  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  No,  no,"  he 
cried,  "  that  won't  do.  I  won't  see  anything  happen 
to  Vaughan.  I'll  go  to  him ;  tell  him  he's  mistaken ; 
tell  him  he  mustn't  speak ;  tell  him  — " 

Henry  Carleton  cut  him  short.  "  No  use, 
Jack,"  he  said  curtly.  "I've  thought  of  all  that. 
It  wouldn't  do  any  good.  In  the  first  place, 
Vaughan  has  this  crazy  idea  about  duty,  and  about 
Satterlee's  blood  crying  out  to  him  from  the  ground, 
and  all  that  nonsense;  you  know  how  a  nervous 
man  can  get  worked  up  over  a  thing;  and  he's 
bound  to  speak  anyway.  And  in  the  second  place, 
he  wouldn't  believe  you.  You  can  hardly  blame 
him,  either.  All  the  evidence  together;  the  affair 
you  had  with  that  woman,  your  stopping  at  the 
cottage  that  evening, —  no,  no,  it  won't  do.  You 
might  as  well  save  your  Breath." 

There  was  a  pause.  Jack  at  last  nodded  grudg- 
312 


THE  FAMILY  NAME 

ingly.  "  Well,  then,"  he  cried.  "  I'll  let  it  go  the 
other  way.  Let  him  go  to  the  district  attorney,  if 
he  chooses.  Let  him  tell  his  story,  and  let  them 
arrest  me,  and  get  me  into  court.  Let  him  tell  it 
over  again  there,  for  everybody  to  hear,  and  you 
can  tell  your  story,  and  Jeanne  Satterlee  hers.  And 
then,  by  God,  I'll  tell  mine,  and  if  there's  such  a 
thing  as  justice — " 

Again  Henry  Carleton  broke  in  upon  him. 
"  Nonsense,  Jack,"  he  said,  "  law  isn't  justice.  You 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  You  wouldn't  have  a 
chance.  It's  open  and  shut  against  you.  And  don't 
go  up  in  the  air  about  Vaughan;  I  didn't  mean 
to  be  melodramatic.  We  won't  need  to  go  to  ex- 
tremes. We  can  think  up  some  way  of  keeping 
his  mouth  shut.  You  can  buy  him  off,  I  still  main- 
tain. And  if  you  can't,  we  can  still  get  at  him 
somehow.  It  isn't  hard.  I'll  be  frank  with  you, 
Jack.  I'll  lay  my  cards  on  the  table.  It  would 
mean  death  for  you,  but  the  scandal  would  hurt 
me,  at  the  same  time.  And  above  all,  the  Carle- 
ton  name,  Jack.  Think  of  your  father.  Think  — " 

Jack  sprang  to  his  feet.     "  Stop !  "  he  cried.     "  It 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

isn't  for  you  to  talk  of  my  father,  and  the  Carleton 
name.  Those  words  don't  belong  in  your  mouth, 
Henry.  And  as  for  Vaughan,  he's  doing  what  he 
thinks  is  right.  And  anything  you  do  to  him,  reacts 
on  Rose  —  on  your  own  daughter.  And  that's  im- 
possible. No,  Henry,  I  tell  you  again,  you  can't 
work  it  out  that  way.  Whatever  else  you  please, 
but  I  won't  see  harm  come  to  Arthur  Vaughan." 

Henry  Carleton,  unmoved,  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
**  As  you  please,"  he  answered  evenly.  "  You  have 
your  choice,  Jack;  there's  only  one  other  way." 

Jack  looked  him  full  in  the  face.  "  For  the  last 
time,"  he  said,  "  you  tell  me  that  this  is  true.  You'll 
.go  ahead,  and  do  as  you  say  ?  " 

The  elder  man  inclined  his  head.  "  For  the  last 
time,"  he  answered  calmly,  "  yes.  Vaughan  or 
yourself?  The  choice  is  yours." 

Jack  Carleton  stood  suddenly  erect,  throwing 
back  his  head,  almost  with  the  gesture  of  a  fighter 
on  guard.  "  Then  I  tell  you  this,"  he  cried,  "  you're 
crowding  me  too  far.  I've  done  the  best  I  could; 
I've  thought  of  others  long  enough;  I'll  think  of 
myself  now.  There's  a  limit  to  what  a  man's  got 


THE  FAMILY  NAME 

to  stand.  I've  been  an  awful  fool,  I  know.  I've 
wasted  most  of  my  life,  so  far;  lost  my  money; 
lost  the  chance  to  marry  the  girl  I  loved.  But  for 
the  last  three  years,  I've  got  no  apologies  to  make. 
I've  tried  with  every  bit  that's  in  me;  I  had  my 
fight  all  but  won.  I  made  good  out  West  there; 
made  good  with  myself;  with  my  prospects;  with 
the  girl  I  meant  to  marry  —  and  then  this  damnable 
business  had  to  come.  And  I  tell  you,  Henry,  I 
won't  quit  now.  You've  got  the  best  of  me  before ; 
perhaps  you  will  again;  but  I'll  take  my  chance. 
I'm  willing  to  back  Right  against  Wrong,  and  I  give 
you  fair  warning  now  that  I'm  going  to  fight.  You 
haven't  beaten  me  yet." 

He  swung  short  around  upon  his  heel,  without 
waiting  for  a  reply.  The  door  crashed  to  behind 
him,  and  Henry  Carleton  was  left  alone  in  the  room. 


315 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IN  THE  BALANCE 

"I  trust  in  God, —  the  right  shall  be  the  right 
And  other  than  the  wrong,  while  he  endures." 

Browning. 

HENRY  CARLETON  leaned  back  contentedly 
in  his  office  chair.  The  afternoon  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close ;  another  good  day's  work  was  done ; 
the  pathway  of  the  future  lay  bright  before  him. 
Money?  He  had  his  fill  of  it.  Except  as  the 
trophy,  the  stakes  in  the  game,  for  which,  coolly  and 
half-disdain  fully,  it  still  suited  him  to  play,  he  had 
come  scarcely  to  value  it  at  all.  Fame?  That, 
too,  had  come  to  him.  His  reputation,  first  made 
in  the  city,  had  spread  later  throughout  the  state, 
and  now,  thanks  to  that  long  and  well-laid  net  of 
carefully  adjusted  wires,  was  to  become  national 
as  well.  Member-elect  of  the  United  States  sen- 
ate !  It  was  enough.  Fame  —  and  power  —  and 

316 


IN  THE  BALANCE 

patronage  —  more  glory  to  add  to  that  of  the  long 
line  of  ancestors  whose  dignified  faces  looked  down 
at  him  from  the  walls  of  the  gallery  at  The 
Birches.  He  had  done  well;  he  knew  it;  and  was 
content.  Nor  was  he  an  old  man  yet.  A  glorious 
prospect  lay  before  him  still,  filled  with  pleasures  — 
of  many  kinds.  Only  this  one  matter  to  be  ad- 
justed now,  and  whichever  way  fate  tipped  the 
scales,  he  could  not  lose.  How  pleasant  it  was  to 
look  back  over  all  his  struggles  with  Jack!  How 
pleasant  to  know,  with  the  lifelong  enmity  between 
them,  that  in  every  encounter,  he  had  decisively 
outwitted  and  got  the  better  of  his  nephew!  And 
now  —  either  Jack  must  suffer,  or  if  Vaughan's 
silence  could  not  be  bought,  Jack's  scruples  must 
somehow  be  overcome.  The  latter,  of  course, 
everything  considered,  would  be  the  better  way. 
For  Jack  —  much  as  he  hated  him  —  was  a  Carle- 
ton,  and  Jack's  fate,  in  a  way,  was  bound  up  with 
his  own.  And  Vaughan  was  a  nobody,  a  mere 
scribbler,  of  no  use  to  the  world.  He  must  be 
silenced  —  somehow.  Yet  there  was  danger  too. 
In  spite  of  himself,  the  matter  troubled  him. 

317 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

As  he  sat,  thus  musing,  his  clerk  appeared  at  his 
elbow.  "  A  young  lady  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  an- 
nounced, "  Miss  Graham,  from  Eversley.  I  showed 
her  into  the  private  office." 

Carleton  nodded.  "  All  right,"  he  answered 
briefly.  "  Tell  her  I'll  see  her  at  once,"  and  a  mo- 
ment or  so  later  he  was  bowing  deferentially  over 
the  girl's  outstretched  hand.  "  I'm  delighted  to  see 
you  back,  Miss  Graham,"  he  said  cordially,  "  if  I 
thought  a  trip  abroad  would  do  me  the  good  it's  done 
you,  I'd  start  to-morrow.  You're  looking  splen- 
didly. And  what  may  I  do  for  you?  Is  this  a 
business  call  ?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "  No,  Mr.  Carleton," 
she  returned,  "  it's  not ;  and  I  should  apologize,  I 
know,  for  coming  to  see  you  at  your  office.  Yet 
I  didn't  want  to  go  to  The  Birches  either.  I  wanted 
to  ask  —  I  want  to  see  you,  Mr.  Carleton  —  about 
Jack." 

She  paused,  and  as  he  waited,  she  did  not  at 
once  continue,  but  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  as  if  embarrassed,  and  uncertain  how  to 
proceed.  So  that  presently  he  broke  the  silence. 


IN  THE  BALANCE 

"  And  what  about  Jack?  "  he  asked  lightly,  though 
his  watchful  gaze  was  upon  her  face,  "  I  rather 
thought  that  you  and  Jack  could  settle  your  own 
affairs.  But  if  you  can't — " 

She  glanced  up  quickly.  "  Oh,  don't  joke,  Mr. 
Carleton,  please,"  she  said,  "  you  wouldn't,  if  you 
knew  how  anxious  I  am.  I  can't  seem  to  under- 
stand it  at  all.  You  know  what  good  friends  Jack 
and  I  always  were;  we  were  more  than  that;  you 
know  what  I  mean.  And  then  —  something  hap- 
pened. That  was  when  Jack  went  West.  And  I 
was  so  glad  when  I  heard  how  well  he'd  done  — 
how  well,  I  mean,  in  every  way  —  and  when  he 
came  back,  everything  would  have  been  all  right 
again.  I  had  written  him  —  and  he'd  written  me. 
We  had  everything  arranged.  He  was  to  meet  the 
steamer  in  New  York.  And  then  —  when  we  got 
in,  he  wasn't  there.  Only  a  message  at  the  hotel 
that  he'd  been  called  away  on  business,  and  would 
see  me  soon.  And  that  was  a  week  ago;  and  I 
haven't  seen  him,  or  even  heard  from  him,  since  then. 
I've  asked  all  his  friends.  Franz  Helmar  doesn't 
know  anything  about  him.  Neither  does  Rose.  And 

319 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

when  I  asked  Arthur  Vaughan,  he  acted  as  if  he 
knew  something,  but  didn't  want  to  tell  me  what  it 
was.  So  I've  come  to  you,  Mr.  Carleton.  If 
there's  something  about  Jack  that  I  don't  know,  and 
that  I  ought  to  know,  I  want  you  to  tell  me." 

Henry  Carleton  sat  listening  to  her,  as  she  talked, 
his  face  expressionless,  yet  keenly  attentive,  all  the 
while.  And  as  she  ended,  he  hesitated,  before 
replying,  as  if  struggling  with  some  inward  temp- 
tation which  finally,  in  spite  of  himself,  overcame 
him.  At  length  he  spoke.  "  My  dear  Miss 
Graham,"  he  said,  "  I  am  so  many  years  older 
than  you,  that  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  let  me 
give  you  a  piece  of  advice.  I  have  felt  uneasy  — 
very  uneasy  —  for  a  long  time,  concerning  Jack's 
attentions  to  you.  Not,  of  course,  that  one  could 
blame  him — "  the  girl  ignored  the  somewhat  me- 
chanical smile  which  accompanied  the  words  — 
"  but  the  man  who  aspires  to  win  your  hand,  Miss 
Graham,  should  be  of  a  type  very  different  from  my 
nephew.  I'm  not  talking  at  random;  I  know 
whereof  I  speak ;  and  as  a  friend,  I  want  to  tell  you 
that  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  forget  all  about 

320 


IN  THE  BALANCE 

Jack  —  not  to  try  to  find  out  anything  concerning 
him  —  but  to  dismiss  him  entirely  from  your  mind. 
And  I  don't  think — "  he  added  significantly,  "that 
you  will  find  yourself  troubled  by  him  any  more." 

The  girl's  expression  was  one  of  bewilderment. 
"  Troubled  by  him,"  she  repeated.  "  Jack  trouble 
me.  You  don't  understand,  Mr.  Carleton.  I 
haven't  made  myself  clear.  I'm  as  fond  of  Jack  as 
he  is  of  me.  I've  promised  to  be  his  wife.  And 
all  I'm  asking  now  is  what  has  happened  to  keep 
him  away  from  me.  There's  some  mystery  about 
it,  and  I  want  to  know  what  it  is." 

Henry  Carleton  gave  a  little  apologetic  cough. 
"  Really,  my  dear  Miss  Graham,"  he  said,  "  you 
make  this  very  hard  for  me.  I  was  trying  to  inti- 
mate, without  putting  things  too  plainly  —  I 
thought  you  would  understand  —  you  know  that 
Jack's  character  is  none  of  the  strongest ;  you  know 
his  weaknesses  as  well  as  I  do.  You  don't  want  me 
to  go  on,  Miss  Graham,  I  know.  Why  should  I 
pain  you?  Let  us  leave  things  as  they  are." 

At  last  the  girl  seemed  to  comprehend,  yet  she 
did  not  take  his  words  without  protest.  "  Jack 

321 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

isn't  weak,"  she  cried  indignantly,  "  you've  no  right 
to  say  that,  Mr.  Carleton.  If  you  knew  all  that 
he's  conquered  —  all  that  he's  overcome  —  you'd 
know  that  he's  strong,  not  weak.  And  please  don't 
hint  or  insinuate  about  him;  this  is  too  serious  for 
that.  If  you've  something  to  say  against  him,  say 
it.  Don't  half  say  it,  and  then  stop.  It's  neither 
fair  to  him,  nor  to  me." 

Henry  Carleton  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  As  you 
will,"  he  responded  evenly,  "  I  only  sought  to  spare 
you,  Miss  Graham.  But  if  you  want  me  to  tell 
you,  I  suppose  you  know  as  well  as  any  one  that 
before  Jack  went  away,  he'd  made  himself  con- 
spicuous by  going  around  in  public  with  the  girl 
who  later  married  my  chauffeur,  Satterlee.  There 
was  nothing  improper,  I  believe,  about  it  all ;  simply 
a  bit  of  boyish  folly  and  bravado;  nothing  worse. 
But  on  Jack's  return  —  I  don't  know,  of  course, 
what  his  life  in  the  West  has  been;  I  suppose  that 
perhaps  one  might  hazard  a  guess  —  he  fell  in  with 
this  woman  again,  and  this  time  —  I'm  speaking 
plainly,  Miss  Graham,  because  you've  asked  me  to 
-this  time  their  relations  have  passed  the  bounds 
322 


IN  THE  BALANCE 

of  decency.  He  visits  her  openly.  And  that,  I 
suppose,  is  the  reason  that  he  keeps  away  from 
you." 

A  little  red  spot  flamed  in  the  girl's  cheeks. 
"  It's  not  true !  "  she  cried,  "  I  don't  believe  it  —  not 
a  word.  I  know  Jack  too  well.  No  man  could 
have  written  me  the  letters  he  has  —  it's  a  lie ;  a 
lie !  "  Face  and  figure  alike  were  tense  and  rigid 
with  emotion. 

Henry  Carleton's  eyes  gleamed,  yet  when  he 
spoke,  his  tone  was  calm.  "  My  dear  Miss 
Graham,"  he  said,  "  pardon  me  for  suggesting  it, 
but  isn't  your  conduct  rather  extraordinary.  You 
come  here,  in  my  office  hours,  knowing  that  I  am 
a  busy  man  —  a  man  of  varied  interests  —  you 
come  here,  on  your  private  affairs,  which  surely 
have  no  special  interest  for  me  —  and  then,  upon 
my  giving  you  all  the  assistance  in  my  power,  you 
inform  me  that  I  lie.  Really,  Miss  Graham  — " 

The  girl  rose  quickly,  yet  her  expression  seemed 
to  show  little  of  contrition.  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
if  I  was  rude,"  she  said,  "you  are  quite  right  to 

323 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

remind  me  that  I  am  taking  up  your  time.  I  will 
go  at  once." 

She  did  not  give  him  her  hand  in  parting,  nor 
did  he  stir  from  where  he  stood,  as  she  walked 
toward  the  door  of  the  office.  Before  she  reached 
it,  he  spoke  again.  "If  you  care,"  he  said 
smoothly,  "  to  hear  the  rest  — " 

She  turned  upon  him.  "  I  do  not,"  she  said,  "  I 
care  to  hear  nothing  more.  And  you  say,  upon 
your  honor,  that  what  you've  told  me  is  true?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  •  "  You're  very  hard 
to  convince,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  blame  you.  It's 
not  a  pleasant  thing  to  hear.  But  it  is  true.  He's 
not  away  on  business.  He  goes  there  constantly. 
In  fact,  if  you  care  to  see  him,  I  dare  say  you  would 
find  him  there  now." 

The  words  struck  home.  For  an  instant  the  girl 
stood  gazing  at  him,  as  if  she  would  have  spoken; 
then  quickly  turned,  and  left  the  room. 

A  chance  shaft  sometimes  cleaves  to  the  very 
center  of  the  mark.  At  the  hour  and  minute 

324 


IN  THE  BALANCE 

when  Marjory  Graham  was  leaving  Henry 
Carleton's  office,  Jack  Carleton  sat  with  Jeanne 
Satterlee  in  the  parlor  of  the  little  cottage  at 
Eversley.  His  face  was  pale  and  drawn,  and  he 
was  talking  tensely,  earnestly,  evidently  striving, 
with  all  the  power  within  him,  to  convince  and  per- 
suade with  his  words.  The  woman  sat  with  her 
eyes  averted,  as  if  she  listened  half  against  her 
will.  Three  years  of  life  had  wrought  their  change. 
She  was  beautiful  —  beyond  all  question  —  more 
beautiful  than  ever;  and  yet  a  nameless  something 
had  crept  into  her  face  —  hardly  to  be  detected, 
even  —  a  certain  look  of  restlessness  —  of  discon- 
tent —  a  vague  change  for  the  worse. 

"  And  so,  Jeanne,"  Carleton  concluded,  "  that's 
all  I  ask.  I  say  nothing  about  that  panic  in  the  stock 
market  —  I  say  nothing  about  the  property.  You 
know,  and  I  know,  what  he  did,  and  how  he  did  it; 
I  got  it  all  out  of  that  sneak,  Cummings;  but  all 
that's  past  and  done  with  now.  Even  if  I  wanted 
to  make  the  scandal,  I'm  not  sure  that  he's  answer- 
able legally;  he's  a  wonderfully  clever  man.  And 
I  say  nothing  about  poor  Vaughan,  and  his  book. 

325 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

You  know,  and  I  know,  how  he  worked  that  with  • 
Cummings,  but  once  more,  that's  done  with  now. 
And  Vaughan's  come  into  his  own,  at  last.  But 
about  the  other  thing,  that's  different,  Jeanne. 
You  must  speak.  You  can't  say  that  you  won't, 
where  it's  life  and  death.  You  must  do  it,  Jeanne; 
I've  a  right  to  make  my  fight;  you  must" 

There  was  a  pause.  And  then  the  woman  spoke. 
"  I  can't,  Jack,"  she  parried,  "  I  promised.  I 
wouldn't  dare  — " 

He  interrupted'  her.  "  Promised !  "  he  echoed. 
"What's  a  promise  wrung  out  of  one  by  force? 
Nothing.  You  can't  mean  you'd  let  that  stop  you, 
Jeanne." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  with  appeal  in  her  glance. 
"  Jack,"  she  said  desperately,  "  I'll  tell  you  the 
truth.  I'm  afraid.  Afraid  he'd  kill  me.  You're 
a  man;  you're  strong,  and  could  fight  You  don't 
know  how  a  woman  dreads  anything  like  that.  He 
said  that  night  he'd  kill  me,  if  I  told.  And  I  prom- 
ised —  I  promised,  Jack." 

Carleton  gave  an  impatient  sigh.  "  Nonsense, 
Jeanne,"  he  said  sharply,  "  he  wouldn't  dare. 

326 


IN  THE  BALANCE 

He  only  threatened,  to  frighten  you.  You  —  of  all 
people.  And  can't  you  see?  He  couldn't  afford 
to,  if  he  would.  Where's  his  hold  on  me,  then? 
Tell  him,  Jeanne,  what  you're  going  to  do,  and  then 
go  away,  if  you're  frightened ;  go  somewhere  where 
you'll  be  safe.  Go  straight  to  Marjory  Graham, 
why  don't  you,  and  stay  with  her." 

"  Yes,"  she  flamed,  "  go  to  Marjory  Graham ! 
That's  just  like  a  man.  You  don't  think  of  me, 
Jack,  at  all.  Tell  her  everything!  That's  such  an 
easy  thing  to  say.  You  don't  think  of  the  shame  — 
the  disgrace  — " 

Carleton  rose,  and  walking  across  the  room,  laid 
a  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  looking  down  into  her 
face,  as  he  answered  her.  "  Jeanne,"  he  said, 
wearily,  "  we've  been  over  this  so  many  times  that 
there's  no  use  in  saying  anything  more.  Only  this. 
I'm  not  asking  you  to  do  this  for  me,  or  for  Mar- 
jory, or  for  Arthur,  or  for  Rose,  though  if  you  do 
it,  you'll  be  doing  it  for  all  four  of  us  at  once. 
That  isn't  the  point.  A  man  gets  to  thinking  pretty 
hard  when  he's  in  a  fix  like  mine,  and  his  own  life 
dwindles  down  to  something  that  doesn't  count  for 

327 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

much,  after  all.  But  I  tell  you  this,  Jeanne,  and 
you  can  call  it  preaching,  and  laugh  at  it,  if  you 
choose,  but  it's  so:  there's  only  one  thing  in  the 
world  worth  doing,  after  all,  and  that's  to  try  to 
keep  as  near  to  what's  right  and  fair  as  we  can. 
People  can  disagree  about  lots  of  things  —  you 
can  criticize  my  life,  and  I  can  criticize  yours 

—  but   some   things   are   so   plain  that  there's   no 
chance   to   differ   about   what's   right   and    what's 
wrong.     And  the  trouble  we're  in  now  is  one  of 
them.     You  ought  to  tell  Arthur  Vaughan.     You 
ought  to  tell  Marjory.     And  then  your  part  is  done. 
You  can  leave  the  rest  to  fate.     But  to  keep  silence 
now,  because  of  a  promise  that  was  forced  from  you 

—  it   isn't   square  —  it's  upsetting  the   belief   that 
every  one  ought  to  have :  that  in  the  end  the  right's 
a  better  thing  than  the  wrong.     And,   Jeanne,   I 
tell  you  this  once  more.     If  you  won't  do  what 
you  ought  to  do;  if  you  still  keep  silence;  I  tell  you 
this:     I  won't  see  harm  come  to  Arthur  Vaughan. 
I  won't  see  Rose's  life  spoiled.     There's  one  thing 
I  could  do,  and  that's  to  put  myself  out  of  the  way, 
and  stop  everything;  but  that  would  be  cowardly,  I 

328 


IN  THE  BALANCE 

suppose.  No,  I'll  make  my  fight,  but  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do,  that  it's  a  losing  one.  My  life  is  in 
your  hands,  Jeanne,  and  I've  a  right  to  ask  you  to 
do  what's  fair.  I've  tried,  for  three  years  now,  as 
hard  as  a  man  could  try.  I'll  never  be  anything 
famous  in  the  world  —  I  know  that  —  but  I've  a 
right  to  want  to  bring  some  credit  to  my  father's 
name,  even  if  it's  only  by  living  an  honest  life,  to 
marry,  and  to  pass  the  name  down  to  some  one  that 
can  do  better  with  it  than  I've  done.  That's  all, 
Jeanne.  And  there  are  only  two  days  left.  That's 
as  long  as  Vaughan  will  wait.  So  you've  got  to 
make  up  your  mind  quick.  Think  it  over,  Jeanne, 
and  for  every  one's  sake,  be  fair." 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  shaking  off  his  hand. 
"I'm  afraid,  Jack;"  she  said  once  more,  "I'm 
afraid." 

Carleton's  hand  fumbled  in  his  pocket ;  then,  find- 
ing what  he  sought,  he  handed  it  to  the  girl.  The 
light  flickered  upon  the  polished  barrel.  "  You 
could  use  it  ? "  he  asked.  The  girl  nodded. 
"  Then  you've  no  reason  to  fear  him,"  he  said. 
"  Tell  him,  Jeanne,  when  he  comes  to-morrow  night, 

329 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

and  then  you  go  straight  to  Marjory's,  and  tell  her 
too." 

She  looked  up  quickly,  as  if  seeking  to  make  one 
last  plea.  "  You  ask  too  much,  Jack,"  she  cried. 
"  If  I  had  my  life  over  —  but  I  haven't.  I've  lived 
out  all  that  was  ever  good  in  me;  there's  only  one 
kind  of  life  left  for  me  now.  And  he's  been  good 
to  me  —  given  me  everything.  And  think  of  all  I 
lose.  All  the  life  I'd  see  down  there.  All  the 
money.  All  the  good  times.  You're  not  a  woman, 
Jack.  You  don't  understand.  Think  of  the 
fun—" 

Once  more  he  laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 
"  Is  it  worth  it,  Jeanne?  "  he  said. 


330 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

REPARATION 

"  Whoever  fights,  whoever   falls, 
Justice  conquers  evermore." 

Emerson. 

THE  butler  had  withdrawn  to  superintend  the 
bringing  in  of  the  dinner's  final  course.  Hel- 
mar,  with  his  hand  outstretched  toward  his  wine 
glass,  for  a  moment  hesitated,  and  looking  first 
at  Rose  and  then  at  Vaughan,  came  to  a  puzzled, 
half-humorous  pause.  "  I  realize,"  he  said,  "  that 
this  is  the  proper  time  for  a  toast,  yet  my  tongue 
is  tied.  Not  through  diffidence,  either.  I  never 
have  stage  fright,  and  I  know  exactly  what  I'm 
going  to  say.  In  fact,  I've  been  working  all 
day  on  it,  and  if  anything  should  happen  now  to 
prevent  me  from  inflicting  it  on  you,  it  would  be 
the  bitterest  of  disappointments  —  to  me,  I  mean. 
But  the  question  of  proper  precedence  is  what  I 

331 


can't  make  up  my  mind  about.  For  the  life  of  me, 
I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  drink  first  to  Rose, 
and  reserve  a  separate  glass  for  our  rising  author 
here,  or  whether  my  first  duty  is  to  drink  to  you 
both,  in  celebration  of  your  engagement's  being 
formally  made  public  to-morrow.  By  the  latter 
plan,  you  see,  I'm  forced  to  drink  alone,  which  is 
always  bad ;  by  the  former,  I  manage  to  be  in  good 
company  each  time.  And  on  the  whole,  I  believe 
that's  the  proper  way.  So  here  goes.  Arthur,  I 
propose  the  health  of  Miss  Rose  Carleton.  In 
order  not  to  embarass  her,  I  intend  to  refrain  from 
any  fulsome  praise,  merely  observing  that  the  fact 
that  she  is  herself,  suffices  for  everything.  Youth, 
beauty,  virtue;  Arthur,  you're  a  fortunate  man,  and 
the  only  drawback  to  the  whole  affair  is  the  horde 
of  envious  enemies  you're  going  to  make  for  your- 
self. But  that  you'll  have  to  stand  for;  and  the 
reward  is  certainly  worth  it." 

He  bowed  with  exaggerated  deference  as  he  con- 
cluded, and  the  girl,  laughing,  softly  clapped  her 
hands.  "Oh,  beautiful,  beautiful,  Franz,"  she 
cried,  "  I'm  overcome.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  re- 

332 


REPARATION 

spond,  but  in  the  presence  of  two  such  distinguished 
beings,  I'm  actually  dumb.  But,  believe  me,  Mr. 
Toastmaster,  I  deeply  appreciate  your  effort.  It's 
fully  worth  all  the  time  you  must  have  spent  on 
it." 

Vaughan,  touching  his  glass  to  Helmar's,  laughed 
also.  "  There,  Franz,"  he  cried,  "  isn't  that  a  fit- 
ting reward?  And  as  for  your  enemies,  and  their 
envy,  let  them  come,  all  of  them.  I'm  safe;  noth- 
ing matters  now,"  and  the  look  in  Rose  Carleton's 
eyes,  as  their  glances  met,  was  more  eloquent  than 
any  response  could  have  been. 

The  toast  drunk,  Helmar  turned  to  the  girl. 
"  And  now,  Rose,"  he  said,  "  actually  words  fail. 
Here  comes  the  really  difficult  part.  How  shall  we 
try  to  describe  such  greatness?  The  literary  man; 
the  author  fairly  launched;  the  coming  all-around 
novelist  of  the  century,  who  has  shown  himself  a 
romanticist  by  aspiring  to  the  hand  of  Miss 
Carleton  and  a  realist  by  winning  it.  There,  how 
does  that  suit  you  ?  Will  that  do  ?  " 

The  girl  smiled.  "  Indeed  it  will,"  she  answered. 
"  But  if  it's  permissible  ever  to  amend  a  toast,  even 

333 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

such  a  good  one  as  that,  I'm  going  to  venture  to  do 
it.  Something  so  nice  happened  to-day.  Tell  him, 
Arthur,  do." 

Vaughan  shook  his  head.  "  Not  I,"  he  an- 
swered, "  I  wouldn't  dare.  I'm  having  a  hard 
enough  time  as  it  is,  trying  to  make  all  these 
remarkable  things  seem  real.  I  still  \valk  around 
pinching  myself,  and  pulling  out  letters  and  tele- 
grams and  re-reading  them,  to  make  sure  they're 
genuine,  after  all.  But  if  I  should  start  to  talk,  I'd 
know  I  was  a  liar  before  I  said  five  words.  I  don't 
mind  listening,  though,  a  bit.  Go  ahead  and  tell 
him,  Rose,  if  you  want  to,  and  I'll  sit  still  and  try  to 
look  the  part  of  modest  but  intensely  deserving 
merit.  That's  the  best  I  can  do." 

Rose  turned  eagerly  to  Helmar.  "  Well,  then," 
she  cried,  "  he  got  word  to-day.  The  book's  gone 
into  a  third  large  edition.  In  three  months!  And 
his  first  book!  Think  of  it.  And  he's  had  more 
fine  letters  and  notices,  besides.  And  two  other 
magazines  have  writ-ten  to  see  if  he  has  any  short 
stories  he'd  let  them  see.  So  he's  going  to  be  a 
great  success,  and  I'm  awfully  proud  of  him,  and 

334 


REPARATION 

when  we  drink  our  toast,  I  want  it  to  be  to  the 
author,  the  book  and  the  third  edition." 

Helmar  nodded  in  vigorous  assent.  "  By  all 
means,"  he  exclaimed,  "  if  all  amendments  were 
as  good  as  that  one,  no  maker  of  an  original  motion 
could  ever  object.  We'll  drink  to  the  third  edition, 
of  course,  and  I  hope,  before  we're  done,  there'll 
be  thirty  of  them.  There,"  he  added,  as  he  put 
down  his  glass,  "  my  pleasant  duty's  done,  and  I 
think  I  may  claim  well  done.  Unless,  Arthur,  you 
can  think  of  anything  I've  omitted." 

Vaughan  shook  his  head.  "  No,  no,"  he  an- 
swered, "  you  Ve  been  a  great  success ;  said  a  lot 
of  things  about  us  both  that  aren't  true,  and  suc- 
cessfully reduced  us  to  just  the  proper  stage  of  un- 
comfortable embarrassment." 

Helmar  laughed.  "  It's  a  pity,  though,"  he  said, 
"  that  we  didn't  have  our  full  attendance.  Think 
of  all  the  other  nice  things  I  might  have  had  a 
chance  to  say.  Wasted  opportunities.  Marjory 
unable  to  come;  Jack  kept  away  on  business;  Mr. 
Carleton  started  for  his  big  time  in  town.  That  is 
a  banquet,  though,  with  a  vengeance,  isn't  it! 

335 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

Think  of  it;  United  States  Senator !  But  of  course 
every  one  knew  he'd  make  it.  I  never  saw  such  a 
man.  Success  in  everything.  He's  certainly  a 
wonder.  You  must  feel  awfully  proud  of  him, 
Rose." 

She  nodded  gaily.  "Of  course  I  do,"  she  an- 
swered. "  We  must  drink  his  health,  anyway.  He 
deserves  it.  What  shall  we  say?  The  man  who 
has  brought  new  honors  to  the  Carleton  name !  " 

As  they  drank  the  toast,  the  butler  entered  with 
the  coffee  and  cigars,  and  the  girl  rose,  smiling 
down  at  Vaughan.  . "  Don't  be  too  long,  now,"  she 
said,  "  remember  I'm  all  alone." 

As  the  portieres  closed  behind  her,  Helmar 
turned  to  Vaughan.  "  Well,  Arthur,"  he  said, 
"  you're  certainly  a  lucky  man.  Engaged  to  such  a 
girl  as  Rose,  and  fairly  on  your  literary  feet  into  the 
bargain.  It's  fine  about  the  book.  I  didn't  realize 
it  was  doing  so  well." 

Vaughan  nodded.  "  It  was  queer,"  he  said 
meditatively,  "  about  the  whole  thing.  I  guess  I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself  for  claiming,  once 
upon  a  time,  that  there  was  a  pull  in  literature. 

336 


REPARATION 

Because  look  how  it  worked  with  me.  There  I 
had  Mr.  Carleton  using  all  his  influence,  and  three 
times  that  book  was  turned  down.  And  then,  just 
because  Jack  kept  after  me  to  do  it,  when  I  took 
the  manuscript  back  and  began  plugging  ahead  with 
it  on  my  own  account,  just  see  what  happened. 
It  was  accepted  the  very  next  crack." 

Helmar  puffed  thoughtfully  at  his  cigar.  "  It 
does  look  that  way,"  he  assented,  then,  after  a  little 
pause,  he  asked  abruptly,  "  Arthur,  how  about  Jack 
and  Marjory?  Was  it  just  a  coincidence  they 
didn't  come  to-night,  or  was  it  something  more  than 
that?  I  don't  believe  they're  hitting  things  off, 
somehow.  And  Jack  himself  —  I  never  saw  a 
fellow  so  changed.  Ever  since  that  time  he  was 
out  at  The  Birches  he  has  seemed  awfully  down  on 
his  luck.  I  was  wondering — " 

Vaughan  rose  quickly.  "  Oh,  he's  worried  about 
his  business,  I  think  that's  all."  Then  added 
abruptly,  "  Would  you  mind  smoking  in  the  other 
room,  Franz?  Rose  doesn't  object,  and  I  hate  to 
leave  her  alone." 

Helmar  rose  also.  "Of  course  not,"  he  said, 
337 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

"  why  didn't  you  say  so  sooner  ?     Let's  go  right 
in." 

Half  way  down  the  hall,  Henry  Carleton's  valet 
approached  them,  a  letter  in  his  outstretched  hand. 
"  For  you,  Mr.  Vaughan,"  he  said. 

Vaughan,  taking  the  letter,  hastily  opened  it,  and 
read  its  contents.  A  puzzled  frown  wrinkled  his 
forehead.  "  H'm,"  he  muttered,  "that's  queer," 
and  as  they  entered  the  parlor,  he  spoke  at  once  to 
his  fiancee.  "  Rose,"  he  said,  "  I'm  sorry,  but 
everything  about  to-night  seems  to  be  fated.  First 
our  guests  disappoint  us,  and  now  I'm  called  away 
myself.  But  only  for  an  hour.  I'll  be  back  just 
as  soon  as  I  can." 

The  girl's  face  clouded.  "  Oh,  no,  Arthur,"  she 
cried,  "  not  to-night.  You  oughtn't  to  go  to-night, 
no  matter  who  it  is.  Tell  them  to  wait  — " 

He  broke  in  upon  her.  "  I'm  sorry,  my  dear," 
he  said  gravely,  "  but  this  is  something  that  can't  be 
delayed.  I  must  go  at  once." 

There  was  no  misunderstanding  his  tone.  "  All 
right,  then,  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  but  be  back  as  soon 
as  you  can,"  and  nodding,  he  left  the  room. 

338 


REPARATION 

The  waiting  motor  made  short  work  of  the  dis- 
tance between  The  Birches  and  Colonel  Graham's 
home;  and  a  short  half  hour  later  Vaughan  was 
ushered  across  the  threshold  of  the  big  drawing- 
room.  Marjory  Graham  came  forward  to  meet 
him,  and  then,  as  she  led  the  way  across  the  room, 
he  stared  in  surprise  at  the  sight  of  the  sec- 
ond figure  that  rose  From  the  seat  by  the  open 
fire.  Yet  Marjory  Graham  seemed  to  see  nothing 
unusual  in  the  situation.  "  I  think  you  know  Mrs. 
Satterlee,  Arthur,"  she  said,  and  Vaughan,  his 
wonderment  increasing  every  moment,  bowed,  and 
took  his  seat. 

The  lights  were  turned  low;  only  the  firelight 
flickered  and  gleamed  about  the  room.  Marjory 
Graham  reached  out  and  took  the  woman's  hand 
in  hers.  "  Tell  him,  Jeanne,"  she  said. 

There  followed  a  pause,  and  then  at  last,  slowly 
and  with  evident  effort,  Jeanne  Satterlee  began  to 
speak.  "  Mr.  Vaughan,"  she  said,  "  the  fewer 
words  the  better.  You've  made  up  your  mind  to 
tell  the  story  of  that  night.  If  it's  going  to  be  told, 
it  must  be  the  true  one.  I've  promised  Jack  to  tell 

339 


THE  GARLETON  CASE 

what  I  know  to  Miss  Graham  and  to  you.  I've  al- 
ready told  her." 

She  paused,  while  Vatighan  sat  waiting  breath- 
lessly, his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  face.  And  then 
she  spoke  again.  "  There's  no  need  to  ask  you," 
she  went  on,  "  whether  you  remember  all  that  hap- 
pened on  that  night.  You  remember  how  you  were 
all  together  at  The  Birches;  how  Jack  said  he  was 
going  to  bed  early ;  how  you  and  Miss  Rose  sat  out 
on  the  piazza;  how  Mr.  Carleton  played  billiards 
with  Jim  Cummings,  and  then  how  he  came  down 
and  told  you  he  was  going  for  a  walk  about  the 
grounds.  You  remember  every  bit  of  that,  of 
course  ?  " 

Vaughan  assented  silently.  "And  then,"  she 
went  on,  "  you  went  for  a  stroll  yourself;  you  came 
to  the  rock  opposite  the  cottage,  and  saw  Tom  when 
he  came  in.  You  heard  the  noise;  you  saw  some 
one  run  out  of  the  house,  with  Tom  after  him;  and 
then  you  saw  Tom  fall,  and  a  minute  afterward 
you  saw  Jack  bending  over  him,  with  Tom's  head 
on  his  knee." 

Again  she  stopped  for  his  assent;  again  Vaughan 
340 


REPARATION 

nodded ;  and  once  more  she  continued,  "  You 
thought  it  was  Jack  who  was  in  my  room;  you 
thought  it  was  Jack  who  ran  from  the  cottage.  And 
no  ©ne  could  blame  you,  Mr.  Vaughan,  for  what  you 
thought.  But  I'm  going  to  tell  you  the  true  story 
of  that  night  —  to  my  shame.  Jack  Carleton 
wasn't  in  the  cottage;  there  was  never  anything 
between  Jack  and  me  —  though  I  tried  —  never 
mind,  I've  told  Mis-s  Graham  —  but  there  was  some 
one  in  my  room  that  night,  and  that  man  was  the 
father  of  the  girl  whom  you  are  going  to  marry." 

Vaughan's  heart  seemed  -to  stop  beating;  there 
came  a  ringing  in  his  ears ;  his  voice,  when  he 
spoke,  sounded  faint  and  far-away.  "  Henry  Carle- 
ton  ? "  he  gasped. 

Jeanne  Satterlee  bowed  her  head.  "  I  said  the 
fewer  words  the  better,"  she  went  on.  "  It  wasn't 
the  first  time.  Things  had  been  —  that  way  —  for 
nearly  two  years." 

Vaughan's  face  flushed  with  anger.  "  Henry 
Carleton !  "  he  cried  again,  "  it's  impossible.  How 
dare  you  say  it  ?  " 

Jeanne  Satterlee's  tone  did  not  alter,  its  very 
341 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

calmness  carrying  conviction  with  it.  "  It's  true," 
she  said,  "  every  word.  And  more,  Mr.  Vaughan, 
that  you  will  never  know.  It's  all  true.  Jack 
knows  — " 

Vaughan  started  at  the  name.  "  But  how  did 
Jack — "  he  began.  She  broke  in  upon  him. 
"  Jack  suspected,"  she  answered.  "  He  saw  me  at 
the  cottage  that  afternoon.  He  talked  with  Tom. 
He  put  two  and  two  together.  And  you  know  what 
he  thinks  of  his  uncle,  anyway.  So  he  came 
down  to  the  cottage  that  evening,  early.  He  was 
hidden  outside.  And  after  Henry  Carleton  got 
away  —  he  struck  Tom  from  behind  to  do  it  — 
then  Jack  came  down  into  the  drive  to  help  Tom  — 
and  you  had  to  see  him.  And  that  was  all." 

Vaughan  sat  as  if  stunned.  "  My  God !  "  he  mut- 
tered, under  his  breath,  "  my  God !  " 

Once  more  Mrs.  Satterlee  broke  the  silence. 
"  And  then,"  she  said,  "  you  went  to  Henry  Carle- 
ton,  and  told  him  what  you  thought  you  knew. 
And  he  sat  there,  and  listened  to  you  telling  him 
that  Jack  did  the  murder.  He  came  to  the  cottage 
that  night.  He  was  furious.  He'd  have  killed  you, 

342 


REPARATION 

I  truly  believe,  if  he'd  dared.  He  threatened  me, 
even.  He  told  me  I  must  stick  to  the  story  that 
Jack  was  in  my  rooms,  and  murdered  Tom;  and 
that  he'd  see  that  no  harm  came  to  Jack ;  that  money 
could  do  anything;  that  he'd  get  Jack  out  of  the 
country;  and  that  it  would  be  better  for  every 
one;  and  I  was  frightened  —  and  promised.  And 
then—" 

Gradually,  as  she  talked,  the  whole  sequence  of 
events  had  been  shaping  in  Vaughan's  brain.  And 
now,  all  at  once,  and  more  to  himself  than  to  the 
others,  he  voiced  his  thoughts  in  words.  "  I  see ; 
I  see ; "  he  cried ;  "  that  was  why  I  could  never 
seem  to  believe  it.  Poor  Jack!  Poor  Jack!  Oh, 
what  a  fool  I've  been ! " 

Again  he  was  silent,  and  she  concluded.  "  And 
then  Jack  came  to  me  —  I  did  all  this  for  him  — 
don't  think  it  was  easy  for  me.  And  I  told  Henry 
to-night,  before  I  came  here.  He  was  going  in 
town,  and  came  to  the  cottage  first.  And  I  told 
him  —  with  a  loaded  pistol  in  my  hand.  He 
wouldn't  believe  me  at  first.  He  never  knew  that 
I  —  that  I  was  fond  of  Jack  —  and  when  he 

343 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

realized  I  was  in  earnest,  I  thought  he  was  going 
out  of  his  mind.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  changed. 
He  said  I'd  ruined  him  —  ruined  his  whole  life 
—  and  then,  all  at  once,  he  put  his  hand  to  his 
head,  and  stopped  right  in  the  middle  of  what  he 
was  saying,  and  turned,  and  went  away.  And  I 
came  here,  to  keep  my  promise.  I  told  Jack  to 
come  here  at  eight;  he  ought  to  be  here  now." 

Vaughan  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  Quarter  past/' 
he  said,  "  I  suppose  he'll  be  here  soon." 

Marjory  Graham  turned  to  him.  "  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  lied  to  me,  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  tried  to  make 
me  believe  awful  things  of  Jack.  And  I  knew  —  I 
knew  all  the  time  that  he  lied.  Think  of  it. 
Think  how  Jack  — " 

Vaughan  nodded,  yet  even  on  the  instant  an- 
other thought  flashed  through  his  mind.  "  But, 
Rose !  "  he  cried,  "  I  never  thought.  Rose !  Good 
God!" 

"  I  know ;  I  know ;  "  cried  the  girl,  "  I've  been 
thinking  about  her.  You  mustn't  speak  now, 
Arthur.  Jack  didn't,  even  before  he  knew.  And 
you  mustn't.  It  would  kill  Rose." 

344 


REPARATION 

Vaughan  drew  a  long  beath.  "  Marjory  — "  he 
began,  but  the  sentence  was  never  finished.  A 
quick  step  sounded  in  the  hall  outside,  and  Jack 
Carleton  came  hastily  into  the  room.  In  an  in- 
stant, as  if  unmindful  of  all  else,  Marjory  Graham 
had  risen,  and  crossed  the  room,  her  face  trans- 
figured — "  Oh,  Jack !  "  she  cried,  "  Jack !  " 

For  a  moment  he  drew  her  to  him ;  then,  without 
speaking,  his  arm  still  around  her,  came  forward 
to  meet  the  others.  Vaughan,  too,  had  risen,  and 
stood  with  outstretched  hand.  "  Jack,"  he  said, 
"  I  never  knew  —  I  never  dreamed  —  can  you  for- 
give me  ?  " 

In  answer  Carleton  took  his  friend's  hand  in  his, 
yet  without  uttering  a  word.  His  face  was  hag- 
gard, his  eyes  wild.  Jeanne  Satterlee  started  to 
her  feet.  "What  is  it,  Jack?"  she  cried,  "some- 
thing's wrong." 

Carleton  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  moisten- 
ing his  lips  with  his  tongue  before  at  last  the  words 
would  come.  "  It's  Henry,"  he  said  hoarsely, 
"  he's  dead.  At  the  station.  He  fell  in  front  of 
the  train.  He  slipped  —  an  accident  - 

345 


THE  CARLETON  CASE 

For  an  instant  there  fell  silence  —  utter ;  horror- 
stricken.  And  then  Vaughan's  eyes  sought  Carle- 
ton's  face.  He  spoke  in  a  tone  scarcely  above  a 
whisper.  "An  accident — "  he  said. 

Carleton  met  his  gaze  squarely.  The  silence 
deepened ;  and  then,  "  An  accident,"  he  said  again, 
"  he  must  have  thought  of  Rose  —  and  the  Carle- 
ton  name.  And  Rose  must  never  know." 

Assentingly  Vaughan  bowed  his  head ;  then  stood, 
gazing  straight  before  him,  a  dawning  horror  in 
his  eyes.  Jeanne  Satterlee  sank  back  in  her  chair, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  Drawing  a  long 
breath,  Carleton  seemed  again  to  come  to  himself. 
Very  gently  he  drew  Marjory  closer  to  his  side. 
Neither  spoke,  for  no  words  were  needed.  Her 
glance  told  him  all  that  he  wished' to  know;  he  bent 
over  her,  and  their  lips  met. 


THE  END 


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